


After the Fall

by ThoseSadisticTendencies



Series: 'Grace for Sale' series [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art, BAMF Newt Scamander, Blood Pacts, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Crossdressing, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Eventual Fluff, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fluff, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Gellert Grindelwald Being Creepy, Hair-pulling, Literal cinnamon rolls, M/M, Manipulative Gellert Grindelwald, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Newt being cute, Nipple Play, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Sex, Original Percival Graves is Bad at Feelings, Possessive Gellert Grindelwald, Protective Original Percival Graves, Rape Aftermath, Rough Sex, Seer Gellert Grindelwald, Sexual Coercion, Substance Abuse, Table Sex, Torture, Violence, Voyeurism, Wound fucking (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 200,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseSadisticTendencies/pseuds/ThoseSadisticTendencies
Summary: The final instalment of the 'Grace for Sales' trilogy. I would put a summary here but if you have read the first two then you probably know where this is going - ANGST and MISERY - and if not...then go and read em I guess? Beta'd by the lovely Vindsie.





	1. Running

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vindsie (Vins)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vins/gifts).

_"It doesn't hurt me, you want to feel how it feels? You want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me? You want to hear about the deal I'm making?_

_…You don't want to hurt me, but see how deep the bullet lies, unaware that I'm tearing you asunder. There's a thunder in our hearts, baby, so much hate for the ones we love, tell me, we both matter, don't we?_

_...C'mon, baby, c'mon, c'mon darling, let me steal this moment from you now._

_‘Running up that hill’ – Placebo_

After the fall, Newt ran. Not literally, mind you, his body and mind far too exhausted and long since broken apart into so much rubble and floating detritus that he simply didn’t possess the energy to move with such haste. He was thankful - not for the first time in his life - for the numerous precautions and safeguards that he had put into place long ago for the eventuality that he might have to flee his home and country for the sake of his creatures. Not that it was his creatures who needed to flee now though; it was for entirely selfish reasons that he was vacating his erstwhile accommodation in London, transferring his friends to his case via the built-in fail-safes of the enclosures. Their inhabitants were understandably disgruntled by the sudden magical mass-transportation but the exhaustion it left Newt with was almost too strong to let him panic all that much. Once he arrived in his intended bolthole; a carved out section of cliffside on the Cornish coast, several miles out of the idyllic and thankfully quiet town of Port Isaac, he focussed all of his dwindling energy upon settling and soothing his distressed friends for the day or so that followed. It helped keep his mind off things – complex, complicated, horrible, messy things that were far too painful to be borne as the Magizoologist worked himself to a near-catatonic state before eventually succumbing to his much-needed rest.

He was only awoken two full days later by the insistent pecking and twining of the Occamy about his emaciated form, they had grown to fill the shed in which he dwelt and their deceptively feather-soft scales were an odd welcome from the feel of cold, conflictingly pleasurable hands that had dogged his dreams and soaked his sheets with sweat for so many horrible reasons. He smiled blearily up and down at the twining bodies even as they looked back at him with huge, sad, imploring eyes that left guilt squirming further in Newt’s guts than he knew how to fathom so instead he resorted to doing what he usually did when distressed. He set to work in helping his friends in need. Another three days later and the only one who refused to settle apart from Newt himself was the Phoenix. His eyes were stern and mournful, even as he never ventured near Newt, he always watched him – part of the man was almost comforted by the silent guardian but he also found that after some time, he wished for solitude from the attentions of the sole creature amongst his companions who was capable of recognising Newt’s culpability in his own suffering.

What he’d done.

What he hadn’t.

And also the things that he couldn’t remember that, even as they left him in doubt of his own fault, were all the worse for the suffering they were causing others in their wake. He’d seen the looks on Albus’ and Graves’ faces and the satisfaction upon Gellert’s that told him that whatever he was missing was doing none of them any good at all. But as much as he regretted it now, he knew that leaving had been the best decision for all involved – not only to help recover his shattered wits and ravaged heart but to perchance return to them in a state where his memories might once again be intact and ready to receive at least a little of the blinding affection that he had seen in Graves’ mahogany gaze.

Those oddly familiar deep brown, deeply expressive, pained eyes that hurt to think of but at the same brought an odd comfort that only served to disturb him further in its unplacability within the gaping holes that resided in his memories. As easy as it might sound for him to simply substitute the gap with the vague feelings and ideas that had been pushed his way by Albus and Graves, it wasn’t anywhere near that simple. Trying to attach feelings of that incomprehensible depth that he had never before associated with a human – let alone another man – without any memories to help support any of it was enough to send his mind and stomach into dizzying, sickening spirals that left him feeling more hollow and shattered than ever before. And that was before not even taking into consideration the fact that his only remaining recollections of anything close to…physical intimacy with anyone over the past year consisted of Gellert Grindelwald breaking him apart slowly and thoroughly, piece by stinking piece and in every way he could.

Not only had Newt spent his time caring for his friends but reaffirming old defences upon his case and cave, as well as casting new ones; utilising everything he could think of in increasingly elaborate and even sometimes downright callous ways. He couldn’t truly believe that any of it was really enough to protect him from what he was trying to escape but it at least helped to know that he was _trying. _That this time around he wasn’t simply just giving up and submitting for fear of worse when there really wasn’t much that could be. He wasn’t going to allow Grindelwald near him, and he also wasn’t going to let himself inflict his presence upon his erstwhile family and friends after how badly he’d screwed up by allowing Gellert to be released upon the world again for the sake of his safety and sanity. Two things that were in peril almost as much as they ever were, even if he was now released from his bonds in a more physical sense.

But, as it turned out, however, Newt’s protections did indeed provide him with the sought peace of mind as, not a little over a week after he had begun his self-imposed isolation in the cave, he was awoken from a light doze by the sounds of loud swearing in what seemed to be a frustration mangled string of German expletives. A voice, that despite its awful familiarity, actually brought a small smile to the Magizoologist’s face as he lay on his back with his eyes still closed. Not for the arrival of the man whom it belonged to, of course - he had been dreading that - but it had been that very dread that gave him the foresight to prepare for when Gellert finally did pursue him. And it seemed that the paranoia had paid off as Gellert Grindelwald was quite literally now ensnared in those defences. Newt lay there for several seconds longer, revelling slightly in the brief solace of solemnity before he would have to face the other again, feeling pressure building behind his temples and within his tightly closed eyes from where he lay, before his hazy contemplation was broken by another familiar voice breaking through the cursing.

“You can’t pretend to be particularly surprised by this, Gellert. I must say I’m more impressed if anything, rather inventive work woven into a naturally occurring-”

“Yes, yes, it's all rather intriguing, Albus, but I would rather appreciate it if you could offer a hand so that we might continue about our business. We both have things to be doing, do we not?”

Grindelwald’s harsh tones had cut across the softer ones and Newt heard a correspondingly weary sigh come from the aforementioned wizard before Dumbledore raised his voice in a tentative though calm-voiced call; clearly aimed towards where he could no doubt see Newt’s case upon the rocky cavern floor. “Newt? We would rather speak to you face to face if you would be amenable to coming out of there?”

Newt opened his eyes, pressing his lips together and sitting up in his cot, looking up grimly, distantly to where a pale square of light resided at the entrance to his case. His own voice barely trembled but was far too hoarse to be strong or calm sounding as he intended it to. “Not particularly.”

He heard a scoff from Gellert and nothing from Albus for a few moments more before the professor spoke again, softer this time in his call. “You have every right to refuse me, but this visit comes more as a formality borne of necessity rather than simply concern on your behalf…although that is certainly part of it as well, I confess.”

Newt sighed again, slinging his legs wearily over the edge of the bed but still not levering himself up in some petty, fleeting resistance to the inevitable. He doubted that Dumbledore was going to leave until he came up to speak with him and due to his protections, he knew that Gellert most likely _couldn’t_. Newt had to go up there some time and despite that knowledge, he couldn’t help but cling onto the minor solitude of his case as the Occamy twined about his feet and knees and upon the bed behind him, nestling into the warm nest his vacated blankets now formed. He absently traced a hand along the top of Nessa’s head as she nipped lightly at his thumb where light, raised lines of scarred flesh resided, even as Gellert’s voice drifted down to him again though this time, less impatient and more similar to Albus’ in its softer, coaxing qualities. Newt was not fool enough to be taken in by it…not this time at least.

“Newton, I promise that I shall not harm you in this instance – we are merely here to discuss and set the terms of our agreements and your acquiescence therein. You knew this was going to happen, Liebling, now please act reasonably and…assist in ridding me of these admittedly thorough security measures.”

“‘Reasonably’ is it now, Mr Grindelwald?” Newt half-choked on a brittle laugh as he began disentangling himself from the mass of Occamy that had swarmed protectively around him, sensing his distress and reacting to it by encircling him as best they could in the small space of his hut with no obvious threat in sight. He managed to wrest himself free and slowly, doggedly made his weary way up the ladder, snagging a few vials from his workbench as he did so, pausing for longer than necessary at the lip before finally pushing the case open and clambering out. He was forced to duck aside as the Phoenix followed him, swooping forward to claw viciously at the figure of Grindelwald who was unable to defend himself very effectively due to currently being suspended upside-down in the thicket of heavily enchanted Acromantula webbing that Newt had set up to ensnare anyone who tried to enter the cave.

More cursing followed for several seconds as the trapped wizard was subjected to the sharp, shredding beak and claws of the irate bird – tearing through the skin of his legs, arms, chest and even at his face and scalp before he seemed to deem his warnings given and the Phoenix retreated to instead hover by Newt’s shoulder in a clearly shielding manner. Newt had considered calling the Phoenix off at first, knew that he probably should to put Grindelwald in a better mood for whatever negotiations were about to take place but couldn’t quite help taking some petty satisfaction in seeing the dark wizard receive just a little recompense for all that he had done. For what he had made Newt do…made him feel…made him forget. It was petty, perhaps, but seeing the other wizard suspended upside-down and looking suitably irritated at the rather severe smattering of scratches and gouges upon his person made Newt feel just that little bit more in control. He knew he wasn’t – far from it but...it helped.

Albus was stood nearby, just beyond the film of webbing though just about visible as the grey, wintery light filtered through the shimmering strands, he looked caught between mild amusement at Gellert’s predicament and continued contrite sorrow at Newt’s. He looked tired still, though not quite as much as Newt felt but certainly more so than Gellert did under the coating of spells and web. Behind the slashes and binds, he looked positively glowing with pale health compared to his previous year of captivity. Not that he had looked unhealthy before, but he certainly looked better now - perhaps it was the return of his magic, maybe it was something else, Newt didn’t know, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Newt’s wand was clasped tightly in his right hand whilst his left held two clear coloured vials which he held in a looser grip as he regarded both men coldly. “I really hope you aren’t expecting me to cut him down.”

Albus grimaced and inclined his head slightly “It would probably make the discussions easier if you would.”

“Not for me it wouldn’t.” Newt replied shortly, arms crossed and eying both guardedly though with a hard gaze. 

“I swear on my honour that I will not lay a hand upon you whilst we discuss this matter.”

Newt choked on a bitter laugh again “Like that means anything.”

“Newton-” Gellert began in a harsh reprimand but then stopped himself, biting his lip in a most un-Grindelwald like manner before meeting Newt’s eyes as best he could from his position and intoning a quiet “Please.” 

Gellert’s face was slowly turning red and flushed from his time upside-down and Newt stood where he was for maybe a minute longer, silent until the stares of both and the uncharacteristic sincerity from Gellert coerced him silently into begrudging action and he stepped forward. Incanting and casting with his words and wand, he simultaneously unstoppered the first vial with his teeth even as his lips moved in the incantations around it and poured the contents over the webbing which began to smoke slightly before it broke apart. It was only Gellert’s clearly honed magical reflexes that prevented him from colliding face-first with the ground as he caught himself with wandless magic and dusted off his clothing brusquely with annoyance when he stood again.

The webbing had left long burnt welts upon all parts of exposed skin that it had touched – his throat, hands and part of his wrists – and Newt knew from experience that the burns, induced by a particular type of venom he had collected long ago in his travels and applied to the webbing, would be burning and itching something fierce. He clenched the second vial in his hand for a few moments, looking between it and Gellert with some deliberation before pocketing it – it contained a salve that would ease the pain and he had only retrieved it out of habit and in case Albus had also been caught in the defences. Albus stepped forward through the now dissolved webbing, brushing a stray strand aside carefully with wandless magic and nodding a silent greeting to Newt which he didn’t return, merely stared on in resolute silence. 

“Now that we’ve got all that out of the way, might we discuss this properly in a more civil manner, Newton? I find myself rather tired of such dreary surroundings as I’m quite sure you can understand, perhaps to your-” 

“You’re not getting any nearer to my case than you are now. Neither of you. Whatever you have to say can be said out here or not at all.” Newt’s tone was brisk and sharper than the coastal December air that blew through the cavernous space they stood in. Gellert sighed showily and waved his wand – Newt only barely managing to contain his flinch – and conjured three winged armchairs and a laden table to appear between them. The surface burdened with three sets of goblets, cutlery and plates, all full and the contents smelling admittedly delicious – at least to someone who hadn’t sampled Gellert’s idea of a ‘meal’ before. Without so much as a word, Newt sent the food-laden plates over the edge of the cliff to clatter and smash on the rocks below before turning them to dust with a mere move of his hand. Even in his frustration, he didn’t really want to risk hurting any sea creatures below in his outburst. 

Grindelwald’s pale face mocked affront at the action and Albus sighed, seemingly exasperated by the continued theatrics but sat nonetheless in a seat at one end whilst Gellert took the one to the right of him. Newt eyed both sceptically before allowing a little tension to deflate from his frame as he perched upon the final chair’s edge, grip tight on his wand and the Phoenix settling upon the back of his chair in a comforting, bearing presence that allowed him some semblance of warmth.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Newt, I’m sure that-.”

“With all due respect, I’d appreciate it if you just got on with whatever you have to say.” Newt cut in and Albus inclined his head politely, if a bit mollified by the harsh tone. Gellert reclined in his own chair across from Newt, chin rested upon his ringed hand, the arm of which was propped up on the armrest as he regarded Newt with cold curiosity. Newt resolutely ignored him, focusing his rapidly blinking gaze upon Albus instead, or at least his left shoulder where a thread of his jacket seemed to have come loose at some point. Newt focussed only upon that and not upon the cold, mismatched eyes he could feel fixed upon him and the memories that made cold sweat bead along his spine. 

“Of course, apologies…” Albus paused then, clearly uncertain and Newt felt his jitters increase exponentially under both hard stares, blinking rapidly as sweat droplets trickled along his skin in pale rivulets that he didn’t wipe away. He wasn’t sure that if he moved his hands from where they were knotted together in his lap with his wand, that they would actually obey his commands with how taut the muscles were right now. Images flickered and pressed, unwanted and relentless of skin connecting with skin, _flesh penetrating flesh_, hazy pleasure-pain and _spirals upon spirals of _glowing_, burning _confusing_ silver_ behind his lids even in the briefest of half-seconds that they closed as he blinked so rapidly… he squeezed them shut one more time, breathing deeply before opening them again with fierce determination. Grounded a little by the tightening of bloodied claws upon the leather of the chair he sat upon, Newt tried not to think more on the trains of thought that blood and leather led him on. 

He blinked, coughed slightly and readjusted his positioning on his perch, feeling both gazes intensify – one with it’s worry and the other with something much less definable even if Newt refused to properly meet it.

“Newt,” It was Grindelwald’s voice this time and Newt didn’t make the mistake of meeting the other’s eyes, keeping them on the stretch of sky he could see between the two men before him, silhouetting each with grey light and rimming them with swirling silver tendrils. He ignored the latter colour in favour of the colder grey light – the natural tone of the winter sky more preferable to the preternatural contradiction. “I am here on cordial terms only.”

Newt jerked with a bitter bark of that same laughter again, twitched with it almost, as he kept his gaze down, shaking his head in utter bemusement. “Hard to know what you’d consider cordial.”

“Quite.” The tone was clipped, angry even; as if Gellert were the one taking offence and he heard Albus sigh again. Newt found himself, in that moment, growing infinitely weary of the couple’s antics, their predictable patterns and wished more than anything to simply slink back off into his case without anyone moving to stop him. He knew that wasn’t going to happen though, he just wasn’t that fortunate.

“You’re here to tell me that I must be continually subjected to your presence, Mr Grindelwald.” he said, slowly but firmly, keeping it as impersonal as he could, considering the…circumstances and catching the words as they passed his lips with a twang of discomfort that didn’t quite translate into a tremor as it might once have. His voice, like the rest of him, was too…worn out for that. 

“Putting aside how distastefully you put it, yes.” Grindelwald responded, though unhelpfully, bitingly, he left it at that. Newt blinked again, shifting in his seat, the sweat dampening his sleeves and where his previously loose collar now stuck to his neck.

“Well, what exactly do you want me to say, then? My opinion matters very little here. You’ve both made that exceedingly clear as I haven’t really had much say in…in any…recent events.” His voice began to falter a little here as he struggled to word just what had happened without really registering any of his own thoughts or surroundings - drowning in the emptiness of his own mind and nothing to divert himself away from it. “You pretend that you’re offering choices, but you aren’t – not really. Both of you do it in your own ways. More similar than any of us would admit but it's true. I’ve seen it and you’ve realised it too.”

He finally raised his gaze to both of them then and his gaze could have been angry to match the accusation in his words, but it wasn’t. They weren’t. He didn’t feel anything more than a vague sort of pity for both and they stared back at him. Albus’ lips were parted as if he wanted to speak and Gellert’s were pressed into a thin, troubled line as both sides of silver and blue pierced Newt…or would have pierced if there was anything left to burst. He wasn’t made of flesh and blood anymore. More of ice. Thick, solid, cold and contradictorily impenetrable. Had the voice of the pact still been present, it might have mocked his choice of words in wake of Gellert’s assault but, as it was, Newt felt nothing of the slight bitter amusement that he might once have. 

“Perhaps you have a point,” Dumbledore said slowly, eyes guarded as he glanced between Newt and Grindelwald flickeringly, gauging both and not seeming to like what he saw in either. Newt didn’t look at Gellert to see for himself; kept his eyes again on the light that shone dully in the sky between the two men before him. “But we are here for your wellbeing, Newt, as we were last time. I have done you uncountable wrongs and perhaps the most grievous of which has been taking these decisions into my own hands in a…less sincere fashion than I may have initially intended.”

“Lied outright, you mean?” Gellert scoffed, shaking his head though freezing in the movement as Newt’s gaze flickered toward him though still nowhere close to focus.

“It doesn’t really matter now,” Newt spoke, voice hollow and even, the ice spreading in another encroaching sheet within him. “There’s no point in dwelling on the lies or otherwise that led us here. It won’t change anything.” He twitched his head just slightly more toward Gellert again. “What would you ask of me?”

“The continued pleasure of your company, of course.” He replied smoothly, pausing and clucking his tongue as he seemed to consider something Newt knew he would have already decided upon in advance before he continued. “As often as is convenient for both of us I would imagine…monthly, shall we say?” 

Newt nodded, not looking at either but softly assenting before Albus interjected again with a painfully cautious tone. “What are your plans for the immediate future? It would be easier for me to orient and monitor these…visits” an indignant side-glance at Gellert “and make sure that the agreed-upon terms are adhered to.”

Newt moved his eyes further down to monitor the stone between the chairs instead now, bowing under the weight of the stares laid upon him. “I hadn’t decided yet, really, I wanted to try to seek out the creatures who were imprisoned and then abandoned or hunted from Paris.”

“No plans to return to London? To see your brother or either of the Goldstein sisters? I understand that they are now living together. It might be advisable to offer them some comfort by visiting.” The nudge was gentle but obvious and Newt considered it silently for more long moments before inclining his head minutely, not in assent or deference, just acknowledgement of the suggestion.

“And Director Graves?” It was Gellert’s voice. Of course, it was, and Newt was sorely tempted then to meet that treacherous gaze but restrained himself to a near-violent twitch.

“What of him?”

“Have you found yourself regaining any recollections of him past that of his obvious ineptitude and distinct lack of regard for personal boundaries?” The tone was mockingly amused, and Newt’s eyes finally snapped up, feeling hot anger flare up in him unexpectedly. Untraceable warmth flowing through his chest, centring above his heart like a freshly-lit hearth and it flared an unprecedented irritation into being that fuelled his icily spoken words as he rose fluidly to his feet.

“What I remember or don’t is precisely none of your business and I would thank you to save your opinions for someone who is so wholly dim-witted or desperate enough that they would put any value in them.” He felt the Phoenix’s wing brushing his shoulder as the creature moved forward to take up a place upon his shoulder in a bolstering movement as the Magizoologist stared coldly down at the dumbfounded looking man. “Just because you have stolen more than I can comprehend doesn’t mean that I am any more willing to tolerate you. Now I would appreciate it very much if you would get out. I would bother making some sort of threat, but I would rather just be rid of you. Please cling to whatever demented sense of ‘_honour ’_ you delude yourself to still having and leave.” 

Grindelwald stood smoothly, eyes dark, piercing and unmoving from every minute movement of Newt’s own as they resided grey-tinted and dull yet underlyingly fierce in his skull, sunken and hollow against his stark pallor. “Very well, Liebling,” He replied shortly before turning to Dumbledore who too had stood, posture tense “But I shall rely upon you, Albus, to uphold your end of the bargain and explain Newton’s situation to him in full as he seems…reluctant to listen to a voice of reason straight from its source.”

“Oh do shut up, Gellert.” Albus snapped, surprising both of his companions at the sudden break in demeanour; irritation and dignified tension warring for dominance but the former seeming to win out in that moment. “You’ve gotten everything you wanted out of this agreement and left none of us with much choice but to accept it and go along with your demands. The very least you could do would be to accept our positions with some semblance of humility rather than continuing with these theatrics.”

“You had just as much input as I on our terms, it’s no fault of mine if you didn’t have the ingenuity or foresight that push circumstances to your advantage.” Gellert replied with a haughtily light tone “But don’t be so quick to group yourself with Newt, I don’t believe that he has as much patience for, or ignorance of your failures as before.” He looked to Newt, as if seeking some form of support just as Albus had when he had spoken before but Newt neither moved nor spoke up to defend either. It was not his fight; these quarrels were between the two elder wizards. The only part he had to play was the one he was being forced into by Gellert’s demands – he was no longer a part of the bond between them and refused to be used as a pawn like he were some unfortunate child stuck between arguing parents. Whatever lingering issues they had with one another were no longer his concern. Not really.

“Just go.” Albus spoke bitingly with a disgusted, exhausted seeming wave of one hand towards the cave entrance and Gellert’s brows rose derisively with a slight scoff and Albus softened the gesture a little by following with the bit-out words. “I will see that everything is sorted to your _stipulations_.” He sent a meaningful glare in the other’s direction that Newt didn’t miss but neither did he comment upon, the Magizoologist may have felt an oddly beseeching, searching set of eyes upon his face but he didn’t raise his gaze from the wood grain of the table even as it disappeared along with the wizard who had conjured it with a crack that was almost lost in the wind. 

“Newt?”

He turned a little towards the sound of the softer voice but still didn’t really acknowledge it, face angled down away from the light. He heard another sigh.

“He’s gone.”

“Does it matter?”

“What?” Albus’ tone was hushed but startled, nonetheless and Newt shrugged apathetically.

“Does it matter to you that he’s gone? I know you feel uncomfortable being around either us…especially together…more so now, obviously but I suppose it's all going to make things worse now…” 

“Well…yes but I dispelled him more for your benefit. You don’t want him here, do you?”

“I don’t really want anyone here, but I understand the necessity.” He paused, tilting his gaze up to rest upon Albus’ lapels, closer to contact than before and saw the tightness of the other’s bearded, grey streaked jaw in the taut lines of his neck below it. “I’d also like to make it quite clear that I’m not going to act as your intermediary anymore. If you want to talk to him or…anything else…then you needn’t use me as an excuse. I know you didn’t entirely mean it that way but it’s what it has seemed to become anyway. I rather think that I aired more between you two than either of you intended…but the bond did. It wanted you to confront this rather than letting it fester any longer. It’s made everything much more complicated than it perhaps intended, however…we all did…” 

He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but he knew that they were true and Albus offered no disagreement, his own gaze dipping in contemplation as he nodded slightly. Albus went to stand by the lip of the cave, looking out onto the crashing grey-blue waves below that glimmered just a little in the sunlight that was trying to filter through the caste of hazy cloud cover. “Gellert Saw this. He saw you here after you left. You gave us quite the scare, Newt – you just jumped...your brother and Director Graves feared the worst but Gellert apparently knew better – as he is always wont to believe he is – as he Saw you here. I wanted to give you some time to yourself, but he was…predictably insistent on the matter and our bargain left me with little alternative.”

“But the bargain was under your control in the first place.” Newt spoke without accusation but with that same hollow truth as before, moving forward to join Albus in his contemplation of waves. Several feet into the water, he saw gulls diving for fish and stray weeds that littered the stormy surface and sent his wandering thoughts further down to the other creatures he knew to be dwelling there. He could see the dark shapes of some of them moving through the water below, some more clear than others and one even clinging to the side of the waterlogged rocks below. “Both of you had a say in the terms of it from what I understand. You were bargaining the fate of both the wizarding and Muggle worlds – the fates of every creature on this earth because you didn’t want to be held responsible for my suffering anymore. You didn’t want that culpability on your hands and ended up making a much worse deal out of it.”

“You’re right.” Albus replied softly “I’ve played God for far too long, deluded myself into thinking that because I hold any more skill or knowledge than others that I really should have any say in larger schemes…I never stopped trying to design a greater good of my own…I deluded myself into thinking that I knew better than I once did but I didn’t ever grow past being that starstruck, power-hungry boy I once was…I never did…”

Newt didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. They both knew that Dumbledore was right, and it didn’t warrant pointless placations or disagreements to try to dissuade him. Newt didn’t mean to say it as a provocation or accusation, just a statement of what they both knew needed to be said and Newt was perhaps the only person in a position to say it to him in the right way...or was it the right way? Newt didn’t know.

“Your family are worried for you.” Albus spoke after a very long time, the silence having stretched out between the two like dissipating morning mist that had once wreathed them in similar circumstances upon Hampstead Heath. So very long ago now. “It’s Christmas Eve and as much as I understand you have…larger concerns upon your mind, I believe that it would be better for all involved if you visited them.” Albus turned his head to face Newt as the Magizoologist continued to stare ever outwards at the endless grey. “Even if you don’t believe it would help yourself, do it to reassure them that you didn’t simply drop from the face off the earth. It's difficult enough for those who care for you to know you’re in pain without being able to at least know that you’re...still here.” 

“I’m not quite sure I still am.” Newt spoke just above a whisper, eyes blinking rapidly again but always too dry. “There’s so much missing…not just the memories that I _know_ are gone…but there are feelings and…other things…traces of things I can’t recognise that are left where the memories were that don’t make sense…”

“I could help you if you wish - I might be able to discover how to undo what Gellert did if I could try to find the memories, where they were and link them up with what I know along with the remnants of what is left. If you spent some time with your friends it might help-”

Newt was shaking his head from as soon as Albus began speaking but it became more vehement and enough to notice before the end. “I don’t need anyone else in my head. I don’t want it back…there’s too much guilt. All I feel is guilt when I try to focus on him and I don’t think I want that much more on my conscience if I’ve done him such wrong…why would I try to rekindle whatever was between us if I’ve done him so much harm? Maybe it's better that I left him to continue his life and me mine.” Likely returning Newt’s courtesy, or so he imagined it to be, Albus didn’t offer a contradiction, merely looked at him with sad, irrevocably old eyes. Newt continued, almost to himself again with the softest of voices. “I’m sure that he means well - seems to - but I can’t share this and I won’t with someone who was apparently important enough for Gellert to take such delight in removing…if he cared that much…if I did…then it’s probably better that I do what’s best for both of us and stay away from it all.” 

“If that is your decision, Newt, and I believe that you may have been at least partially right in this, then I won’t try to persuade you otherwise, as it isn’t my place but I still think it would be an immeasurable kindness, to your brother at least, to let him know that you are indeed alive. He doesn’t seem to trust my reassurances upon the matter.” The last part was followed by a hollow-sounding chuckle and Newt merely nodded, prompting a sideways, hopeful seeming glance from the other. “You’ll visit them then?”

“I suppose,” Newt replied quietly “I should apologise at least. I’ve just made his and Tina’s jobs a lot harder with Grindelwald’s release.”

“Newt.” His name was spoken with fervency and Albus gripped his shoulder firmly, turning him about to face the shorter man even as Newt’s startled eyes only rose to trace the other lips as they formed more words, bright blue eyes direct upon Newt’s downturned face. “You are not responsible for this. This was my decision. You were right – I made decisions on your behalf without really giving you any choice in any of it. Grindelwald will not succeed in bringing about his war. I won’t let him. Even if it won’t be obvious that I’m fighting him over the next few years…I will be. It will be difficult, but you need to place trust in your friends, Newt. Being alone may seem to be an easier way to deal with what’s happened but it won’t be. Being alone is harder in the aftermath of love and pain than you can imagine.” His eyes were searching Newt’s then; desperate and earnest but Newt couldn’t meet them. Couldn’t.

“Tell me you understand, Newt.” He almost shook Newt and the younger man wrenched himself from the grip with a gasp, away from both the edge and Albus, back towards the relative safety of his case. 

“I hear you.” He replied softly when Albus made a move as if to follow and it halted the other’s steps before a look of deep regret flashed across his lined face again.

“Can I ask…did you want this to happen?”

Newt’s eyes snapped up then, furious and perplexed and Albus hastened to clarify himself at the reaction “I don’t mean what occurred between you and Gellert…I mean your memories. Before the bond was removed, when I asked if I could help you in any way…you said that you wished the last year of your life was gone. I thought at the time that you had only meant what had happened in Nurmengard and what Gellert did…but…was I mistaken?”

Newt frowned, vaguely remembering the words spilling numbly, albeit a little hysterically from his own lips “I…don't know, maybe. I don’t remember enough of Graves to know if I would want to forget him in the first place; even with all the guilt. Besides, I thought this was Grindelwald’s doing – not mine.”

“Of course, there is no doubt in my mind that he is responsible for this, but I had wondered if you were perhaps more aware of his intentions than you realised…”

“I honestly don’t know. I’m missing too much to be sure of much at all…”

“And you’re quite certain you don’t want my assistance in attempting to regain those memories?”

The apathy leeched at him as he shook his head again, turning his gaze back down “I would rather have some time to myself with no one else in my head if it's all the same to you. If they’re meant to come back, I imagine they probably will on their own…eventually…”

“Perhaps…” Albus looked conflicted and Newt let a little of his inner tension leak out once more and into his words as he answered the earlier query.

“I will visit them - Theseus and Tina, that is.”

Albus nodded approvingly before clearing his throat and adopting a more serious though resigned expression “These…visits with Gellert that I am to arrange – you know I wouldn’t wish them upon you but with his freedom, I doubt there would be much either of us could do to dissuade his pursuit of you but at least in this way he will be held to the terms of our agreement.”

“What makes you so sure? I know you said you can’t tell me the details, but can you at least give me some solid assurance that he will be held to… whatever it is you made between you?”

Albus paused, seeming to consider his words carefully “We reworked the purpose of the Blood-pact to include your involvement after it’s removal. It’s quite remarkable, actually; it has grown to become a living thing in its own right – an amalgamation of Gellert and myself…who we were and what we grew to be and after spending so long within you…it took some of you too. It no longer binds you in an obvious sense but, well…” he chuckled slightly, looking thoroughly mystified “I think that simply put…it took a liking to you, Newt.”

“Joy of joys.” Newt muttered caustically, letting out the dry sound of a half-laugh of his own, Albus seemed a little encouraged by this as a ghost of a smile graced his own lips from the corner of Newt’s eye. 

“I’m sorry if that summarisation seems a tad inelegant but it's true. What it means, essentially, is that the original purpose of the bond has been altered rather than removed between Gellert and myself and I worked his pursuit of you into it as best I could, though he was predictably determined on the matter.” He sighed, head tilting towards Newt again and managing to catch his eye as best he could “Whilst you were unconscious, we set the terms and as invasive as it seems, I took the liberty of placing about the intended protections upon you as the terms of the bond were reset. He can no longer employ Legilimency upon you or most other influencing magics such as the Imperius, though you will still be vulnerable to more physical effectors such as Veritaserum, as it isn’t a danger that stems directly from his magic. These precautions will not protect you from all forms of magical manipulations, mind you; only from Gellert’s magic directly. Should another attempt any such methods, you will be affected much the same as before – this is merely a protection against your will being…usurped when interacting with Gellert alone.” 

Newt nodded slowly, feeling that he probably should be experiencing some form of outrage at the further working of magic upon him without his consent or knowledge but finding that his capacity for indignance in that particular field seemed to have been bled dry by this point. At least _this_ magic was unlikely to make him kill or harm anyone against his will or awareness. “I managed to convince him not to place any traces upon you directly, but I don’t imagine that he will play by that as much as he professes. He never has been one for any great integrity after all.”

“Whatever would possibly give you that idea? Your massive intellect let you in on that astoundingly insightful idea, did it?” Newt muttered bitterly, finding that the derision felt easier to roll off his tongue in wake of the bitter hollowness residing within him. It felt…appropriate, somehow, even as he knew it likely came off as petulant and hurtful. Maybe he was now, just a little. He felt a cuff on the back of his head then and blinked bemusedly, turning his head to meet the disapproving onyx eyes of the Phoenix and almost laughed despite himself before glancing up shamefacedly to Albus. “Sorry…please, continue.”

Albus looked mildly amused “No need, Newt, your frustration is justified and I would wager that venting it in the right places would be a good idea.”

“Still, no call to be rude when you’re making sense of all of this.” He still refused to look at the other but caught a slight nod from him anyway.

“My words were poorly chosen but that aside, I would offer you a warning to exercise more care than you ever have before should you wish to avoid his notice for the most part. Though I see that you seem to have your safety and defences well in consideration already.” He said, eying the strands of webbing left with some appreciation. “Can I ask what you did to make them quite so resilient to Gellert’s magic?”

Newt let a small, slightly proud smile twitch his lips up at the corners as he explained “Acromantula webbing coated with aged Levellan venom and woven in with some faerie magic. I’ve found that most wizards don’t tend to consider any creatures’ magics to be as strong or useful as that of a wand but because of that it’s power tends to be overlooked and mostly unprotected against.”

He brushed fingers against his wand at his side, thinking of the wholly unique core it held and how well it had served him alongside the other alternative sources of protection and healing he had amassed over his life. The attributes of plants so simple as Bluebell, Rowan, Primrose and Ash that he had utilised in his defences were often overlooked as they weren’t listed as truly magical materials by any school-sanctioned textbooks or curriculum. In a way, Newt’s expulsion and more independent style of learning through his mother’s influences and his travels had opened up his repertoire in a more comprehensive way that even someone as intellectually impressive as Gellert was left perplexed by his work. In the spur of the moment, he may not be as powerful as the stronger wizards or those with the advantage of numbers but given some preparation time, he could establish some pretty damn useful defences and remedies. 

“I must admit that I have done little such research myself and I don’t doubt that Gellert would’ve thought it worth his notice in wake of his preference for the darker arts.” Albus conceded, looking thoughtful.

“I thought as much.”

“It’s a shame that a position in teaching would likely be denied to you by Headmaster Dippet due to your expulsion, I rather believe that you would have much to teach my colleagues as well as the students in the fields of both care of magical creatures and Herbology.”

Newt laughed with a more genuine note than before “I don’t think I would be any more well-suited to such a role than the last time you suggested it.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I would wager that your literary prowess and veritable hordes of admirers might indicate otherwise. I know that you haven’t exactly been paying much attention to the progress of your work lately - with good reason, undoubtedly – but it has gained more credibility than you might expect. Even amongst some of the less…enlightened members of the wizarding community. I’m sure that should I put in a good word for your appointment for either position that Armando might, in fact, listen to reason on the matter. He’s becoming comparatively softer in his later years.”

Newt’s smile faded and he shook his head numbly “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, Albus, but even if I thought I would be any good in a teaching post, I wouldn’t inflict my trail of misfortune upon children. I’m hesitant even to risk the safety of Theseus’ child by visiting before they are born...” he swallowed hard “I can’t imagine what Grindelwald would do if I were to take such a role…no, it's far better that I stay away from others.”

“Isolating yourself will only serve to push you closer to Gellert and I think-.”

“I don’t really care what you think about this. I’m not taking advice from you on anything concerning Gellert Grindelwald. You’ve spent the majority of your adult life pining over him and I’m not going to make the same mistake as you – what…w-what happened between us wasn’t… mutual...he used the bond against me to make-…make me feel things that _weren’t real_ and fooled himself into thinking that they were. Still is.” He looked over at Albus then with pitying eyes that stung with how wide open he was holding them. Not to hold back tears though, he felt too cold for tears in a way that had nothing to do with the biting coastal wind, eyes wide and dry. Albus looked equal parts sympathetic in his own right and ashamed, Newt couldn’t stand it and turned upon his heel, fully intending to retreat back into his case where Albus would hopefully have the sense not to follow.

“Don’t let him turn you into something you’re not, Newt.” 

He stopped just in front of his case but didn’t turn, shoulders trembling slightly under his thin shirt and coat.

“Hate thrives in the absence of love. Bitterness grows best in isolation. Don’t cut yourself off from others – that’s what Gellert wants. It’s why he has done what he did; he stole the better parts of the last year of your life so that he might worm his way into the place of Mr Graves in your affections. Even if you don’t remember what occurred between the two of you, I know that the feelings remain – love like what I witnessed between you two doesn’t just go away. Gellert saw this too and tried his best to make it go away all the same because he doesn’t know how to handle being told no…” Albus’ eyes glimmered for a few moments as Newt glanced back at him briefly at the crack in his voice “Please focus upon what you can of those you love and who love you in return so that you might hold onto the good man I know you are, Newt. It may seem unlikely to you in wake of all that Gellert has inflicted upon you, but you are capable of moving past this without cutting off all ties to those you care for.” 

Newt didn’t respond, couldn’t with the way his throat felt like sandpaper and his chest felt immeasurably tight, like an Occamy constricting about his chest until his breaths came in too short. He leant down and fumbled the locks of his case open, hands shaking and only glancing back again once before sliding through the gap and clambering down on clumsy limbs, spelling the lid shut again behind him. The actual Occamy were curled up in his cot where he had left them and the Phoenix had swooped down before he had, now resting upon a nearby chair that Newt fled past on his way over to the station where he kept his ingredients and samples. The glass under his fingers clinked and tinkled clumsily as he sought through the labels for the desired potion. It took him a few tries as his head was spinning and unwanted images were flickering behind his eyes in a confusing cavalcade of sensations and sparks. It felt as if the pressure of his thoughts were pushing at his temples and the backs of his eyes, trying to break through in the most painful way possible and he was insensible to the low groan that left his lips even as he found the right vial.

The dark liquid tasted bitterly of peppermint and like old spirits but as he gulped the dose down, Newt barely noticed it in wake of the instant numbness that ran through him like a dousing of icy water after too long in the sun. The sensations of his heart, eyes and brain being on fire lessened until he could barely feel anything at all, and he slumped over the countertop in relief, letting the coolness wash away everything in blissful moments of detachment. It settled thickly into the ice like a coating of snow – feeling more right than the outbursts and spikes of emotion had in Albus’ and Gellert’s presence’s. It felt more…right to be alone and in this numb state. He didn’t like what he had said even if it had been true and if being near the two men brought that out in him now, then he didn’t want to see either again. He seemed to have no choice with one but he did have the opportunity to no longer be stuck between them should he cut off ties with Albus – going exactly against his wishes, perhaps but also seeming to be the best thing in terms of Newt’s attempts to move himself and those he cared for out of the line of fire. He may not be able to control Gellert’s obsession over him, but he could remove the provocative catalyst that was Dumbledore from the equation at least in direct contact to himself. 

He let his knees buckle and his feet slide out from under him, sinking to the ground to lay on his back with a long sigh, he pressed a shaking, scarred hand to his eyes again, holding them shut even as the images that played behind them slowly subsided into welcome blankness. The potion wouldn’t make him sleep but might offer him a few hours of a blissfully blank mind before it all came back again. Newt knew deep down that it wasn’t good to rely upon the potion as he had for the last week to abate the troubling tide of thoughts and recollections; the sensations that weaved their way across his skin like the webbing had across Gellert’s and burning just as much. He hoped that Albus had left. Newt knew he would have to move again to garner even a little peace before whenever Gellert next insisted upon visiting but in that moment, as he lay there on the worn boards of his hut, couldn’t gather up the strength to go back outside to check if his apparation would go unnoticed. So instead he remained, staring up the little square if grey light that shone around the edges of the case entrance and let all else blur out of his notice. 

Newt felt as though he were being cocooned too. In a way that was different from those strands that had ensnared Gellert so – it felt like the blankness that fused his brain into nothingness was being joined by twining webs of purpose that wrapped around his numbed limbs and wove in-between them, joining him to the gaps that ran through the floorboards beneath. He was being melded into the dead wood – something that had once held so much life and even attracted the presence and loyalty of Bowtruckles – but now served no more purpose than to be used. He already was. Already had been used. Hollowed out and carved for a new purpose - the craftsman deciding that purpose for him. 

Why try to change that now? 


	2. Wait

_“You picked up your heart and made straight for the hills, that day I've not forgot, all the while I've loved you still…._

_In streets of stone, you stood, like a light in darker times, we all did what we could, but our failure closed our eyes_

_…I won't stop til my heart from my chest drops. And you leave me no choice but to wait for the water, to wait for the water to rise.”_

_‘Wait for the Water’ – The Ballroom Thieves_

For once in his life, alcohol was doing nothing to abate Percival’s overwhelming emotions. Instead of it gradually numbing them down until he passed out, he felt everything just as before and eventually gave up on the matter after the fourth generous tumbler of Fire-Whiskey was smartly pushed his way by an equally bereft Theseus. For once, there were no irate words shared between them, instead, both sitting or pacing about the living room of the Brit’s London home in relative silence but for the clinking of glasses and some light clattering from the kitchen as Tina, Jacob and Queenie set about preparing Christmas dinner. Not that any of the wizarding folk were particularly in the mood for it or were, in fact, religious at all but Queenie had insisted that Jacob needn’t shirk his usual tradition just because they didn’t celebrate it. She had also seemed to want to keep as busy as she could in light of a story to which she only knew part of but had sensed more than she had been told from every distraught mind in the room. The Legilimens had done the courtesy of not voicing aloud what Theseus and Percival would not say but he knew from the devastated look on her face, the constantly shimmering eyes and the gnawed lips, that she knew the truth. Percival almost wished he didn’t.

It had been admittedly kind of Theseus and Tina to allow him to stay with them in the aftermath of Newt’s ordeal and subsequent disappearance – the disappearance that had involved leaping from a several hundred-foot drop off the side of a Morgana-damned mountain. He had re-entered the room just in time to witness it and despite Dumbledore’s assurances that Newt was alive and well, the Auror couldn’t find it in himself to believe the word of the Brit or the Seer-powered sadistic bastard who had informed him of Newt’s apparent survival. No matter the case, Percival knew without a doubt that Newt would not be ‘well’ in any sense of the word; not after what he’d been through, and it tore at his insides like the claws of a particularly irritable creature that he could not be there for Newt now. Nor be any help even if he were with him. Right now, his presence would likely only confuse and agitate the younger man further; not that it stopped him from wanting to try, mind you. It might seem selfish but all he seemed to be able to think about in his increasingly intoxicated state was Newt wrapped in his arms and all of the troubles of the past year forgotten as they lay together again with no end in sight. But that wasn’t going to happen.

In the days since Newt had disappeared – along with the bastard who put him into the state he was apparently still in – Percival had alternated between periods of brooding silence and harshly interrogating any Grindelwald fanatics that were unfortunate enough to still be in MACUSA custody so violently that three had ended up in the intensive care unit of the prison facilities. He had also been ‘advised’ to take a temporary leave of absence by President Picquery until he could “get his damn head on straight again”. The truth of the situation was more that he had experienced uncontrollable fits of rage that nearly resulted in the deaths of those he was interrogating and even in his anger, Percival could realise that she had done so in everybody’s best interests. Even so, it had been admittedly guiltily satisfying to watch both Rosier and Abernathy being dragged away after he had finished with them – he didn’t like to think of himself as being a sadistic man but being able to vent some of his immeasurable fury towards a cause that might help him hunt down Grindelwald and make him pay…it had felt good. Like he was actually doing something worthwhile while Newt was out there all alone and desperately in need of help that he wasn’t sure he could even give. 

Fortunately for Percival’s…perhaps delicate state of mind after his temporary dismissal and all that had occurred, Tina had told him that Theseus’ spare room was at his disposal as the two had apparently sorted through the surface issues of their relationship in light of her now obvious pregnancy and she was currently cohabiting his home in London. Not favouring the thought of solitarily stalking his own apartment, he had agreed; not only for the company but for the hope that should any news concerning Newt come to light, he would hear it that much sooner. He could understand that Newt probably wouldn’t want to see him but held out the hope that he might be still enough himself that he would visit his family for some sort of security or comfort. Whilst it was a flimsy expectation as the days rolled past with no sign of him forthcoming despite both his and Theseus’ feelers being out with their respective Ministry operatives, it turned out to have perhaps been a fortuitous decision on Percival’s part. 

As it happened, Percival was alone in the living room when the knock came to the front door as Theseus had gone into the kitchen minutes before and the clattering and low voices likely distracted the house’s other occupants from such a sound, so it was Percival who ventured forth to answer. The knock had been tentative, a light rapping of knuckles that sounded four times, two first in hesitance and then two more in firmer strokes. Caution left him slightly as he levered himself up from his slump in the chair and crossed swiftly with only a few light scanning charms alighting his wand tip from within his pocket. Finding nothing obviously amiss, he unbolted the door and was met with the back of a man covered against the cold December wind with a familiar blue wool coat that had him sobering up much faster than he expected as the wearer turned, as if reconsidering, and he too froze.

Newt looked better than the last time he had seen him as the pale pink scarring had faded down to a muted white set of lines that blended almost perfectly with his natural pallor, only standing out where his dusting of freckles was interspersed by the lines tracing towards his eyes. He was thinner still, even in comparison to the months of captivity and his shirt, previously too small, now almost seemed to fit even in the partially unbuttoned state it was, bowtie present but not knotted and trousers grained around the knees with dirt and what looked like sand. The eyes were the main difference, they met his but not with recognition nor with confusion as he might have expected – and the fact that they actually _met his_, voluntarily and without hesitancy. It just seemed off. The green was rimmed less with blue too, as if the removal of the pact from him had drained some of the other two men’s influences even upon his very appearance past the silver that had been burned into his skin. Now they were duller, deeper green that was a shade closer, perhaps, to the hues of the nature he often surrounded himself with, the rings of cerulean and flecks of brown accenting each other even as the life was dulled in comparison to the potential for vibrancy that they held. His pupils were wide, almost obscuring the haze of colour that was left. It was both eerie and somewhat ethereally beautiful. 

“Newt, what’re you doing here?” He blurted it out and the man in question inclined his head a bit before swallowing and rubbing a hand seemingly spasmodically through the back of his hair, freezing, flinching just slightly and then slowly drawing it down to almost cradle it in front of him whilst averting his gaze.

“I was under the impression that this my brother’s house and not yours so I guess I could ask you the same.” He frowned distantly then, eyes flicking back up to Percival’s face in question as he added “Or are you friends…? I don’t recall Theseus mentioning you much but then again we don’t discuss his colleagues very much…I suppose that if you and I were…uh well acquainted then it would make sense for-”

He cut himself off as Percival shook his head vehemently, trying to clear it a bit as he hastened to reassure the other and fix his misstep in the same moment “No, no, Morgana’s ass no! We-...Theseus and I are barely on speaking terms most of the time, but he and Tina were kind enough to allow me to stay with them…after what happened.”

“Right, yes, very kind of them,” Newt murmured, shifting on his feet then glancing back over his shoulder into the dark, empty street and Percival realised that he had been blocking Newt’s entrance and likely wasn’t making him feel very welcome by doing so and stepped back, holding the door open wider. Newt’s head bobbed in a minor nod of thanks as he came forward, Percival closed the door behind him and then paused, unsure of how to proceed and thankfully being saved from such a decision as Tina bustled in from the kitchen, a cloth slung over her shoulder and visibly rounded frame only just noticeable beneath a baggy dark red smock dress. She gasped as she saw Newt and swept toward him, brushing past Percival and pulling Newt forward, holding him at arm’s length before wrapping his skinny frame in a tight hug. The male Auror thought she might’ve whispered something to Newt then, but he didn’t hear the words and judging from the slightly stricken look on Newt’s face that he could see over Tina’s shoulder, he didn’t think Newt did entirely either. 

She released him rather quickly, much to both men’s apparent relief and gestured for him to follow her back down the corridor and into the living room where she ushered him into an armchair. Newt went a bit numbly, eyes on the ground as he settled into the seat and Percival found himself by the window nearby to Newt’s chair, back to the curtained glass and mahogany gaze fixed upon the top of Newt’s curled head as his eyes were turned down. It felt more like his usual behaviour but still wrong somehow. His eyes didn’t even look focused anymore, not that they had much in the first place. Percival couldn’t find himself entirely surprised to think that Newt would be mostly out of it right now – not after what had happened – but he couldn’t yet say if it was rooted in mental, physical or magical realms so resigned himself to keeping a close eye on Newt as long as he was here.

Theseus re-entered, though rather strategically, he felt, not followed by the rest as it likely wouldn’t be a good idea to crowd Newt after he had taken such brave step by coming here in the first place. The elder Scamander looked incredibly cautious as he stepped forward, Newt looked up but didn’t rise to greet his brother, Theseus, too, looked unsure of how to proceed. Newt, surprisingly, was the one to break the silence in a soft, low voice. “Hello, Theseus…um Merry Christmas, I suppose?”

The British Auror cracked a smile at that and a little tension leaked from him before he deemed it time to relax slightly as he sat in the chair across from Newt by the fireside, highlighting his sharp features and casting a more Newt-like gold-red tone to his neat hair. “Glad you could make it – I was pretty convinced you wouldn’t come…or that Dumbledore wouldn’t even bother mentioning it.” He clearly was hesitant to mention the fact that they had all been half-convinced that Newt was dead and equally half irate and grieved at the prospect.

“He did. Was quite insistent on it, in fact.” Newt commented lightly, leant forward in his chair and fingers steepled horizontally between his jittering knees.

Theseus huffed a breath and shot a slight smile “Would’ve been an awfully big waste of all the blood I gave for you to disappear on us like that indefinitely.” It was a tease, everyone in the room could tell and for as much confusion as the words steeped Percival in it seemed to puzzle Newt further as his brows creased into a severe frown.

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose that Dumbledore would’ve failed to mention it with all that was going on, but he apparently had to transfuse a lot of blood back into you to keep you alive. I’d already offered mine before and he thought it might work better than simply trying to replace it all entirely magically.” He huffed another forcibly amused breath though his eyes remained hard and distant – scared even. “I don’t pretend to understand half of what went on but it seemed the least I could do to give you a damn chance after you dealt with all that bloody mess for so long…” he trailed off, seeming to realise that he was rambling in his affected reminiscences and blinked rather rapidly before offering another thin smile to his brother.

“I…didn’t realise you’d done that…thank you?” He seemed agitated even as his tone, eyes and expression remained devoid of life. It was bizarre and unnerving to witness. The silence stretched on for long minutes; no one seeming to know how to continue before Percival’s eyes fell to Newt’s abnormally non-bulging coat pocket and decided to weigh in on the lack of conversation as the others seemed struck dumb by Newt’s odd – even for him - nature.

“Pickett not joining us?” Newt’s deadened gaze snapped toward him and he patted his pocket a bit absently as he blinked slowly at the Auror.

“He insisted that if he had to spend some time with his branch then I should too…a compromise of sorts, I suppose.”

“Seems fair.” Percival tried to match Newt’s apparent lightness but felt that he was doing a fairly poor job as the younger man’s narrowed very slightly and his head tilted. He hastened to add more words to cover the uncharacteristic awkwardness. “And the others? Titus? Poppy? Nessa? Benjamin? Marius? Susan? The Phoenix?”

Newt looked baffled, off-footed and Percival remembered then that he was still all but a stranger and revealing his fairly extensive knowledge of his creatures probably wasn’t the best way to make Newt trust him any more. He recovered though, seeming keen on the topic as Percival had seen him be so a hundred times before and twiddled his thumbs in his lap again as he spoke. “They’re well…good as can be expected. The Occamy are fully grown now and very well bonded; very protective. Marius’ wounds are doing a little better than before even if the sea air isn’t exactly helping him as he prefers fresh water even if it's in small doses.” He seemed to get into a flow of sorts as he spoke more and Percival nodded along, encouraging and offering verbal prompts that weren’t interrupted by the room’s other two occupants. It felt as if they were in a holding pattern, slowing down the initial crash so that Newt might lower himself into the darker areas that were looming ahead at a safer rate.

It only slowed when he reached discussing the Phoenix and his brows creased, voice slowing out of its soft rhythm “The Phoenix…I don’t know. He doesn’t seem quite right…doesn’t seem to trust me as much anymore – it’s a miracle he ever did in the first place but he seems more guarded and guarding too. He treats me like I’m volatile but also protects me from…from greater threats…” his voice cracked here, and the rapidly blinking eyes became clearer, more like green-tinted glass that shone brightly, though not wetly. Tina jolted in her seat suddenly and she tugged upon Theseus’ arm, drawing him where he had been regarding Newt in silent contemplation for the past hour or more.

Newt did not look up from where his eyes were boring a hole in the beige carpeted floor, but Percival caught the meaningful look that Tina speared the Auror with as she drew her partner from the room. From the fleeting glance he got of Queenie’s distraught face as the door swung shut behind the couple, he got the distinct feeling that Tina had just been mentally alerted by her sister of something that the younger woman had picked up on in Newt’s head from the kitchen. As much as Percival appreciated that Queenie couldn’t control her powers all the time, it did worry him to think if the effect that invading Newt’s mind might have on him, though he hadn’t made comment of it if he had noticed her presence.

Taking the hint after the kitchen door closed, wafting the smell of cooking meat through and causing further worry to gnaw at him as he remembered what that scent might do to Newt’s already fragile state of mind. He used his position by the window to his advantage to make the move look more natural and opened it to let some of the cool, smoke and rain scented night air in. He also subtly cast a charm to help dispel the smell further out of the room. Percival turned back to Newt, but he was forced to step aside hastily as Newt stepped swiftly up to lean on the wall by the frame, parting the curtain and staring out into the dark. Newt was breathing deeply and Percival stepped over to the opposite side of the frame, mirroring his actions, though more for the purpose of not making the magizoologist uncomfortable with his prolonged stare.

There was a remarkably easy silence for long minutes before Newt, again, was the one to break it, not looking at Percival but with a stronger note claiming his voice than before. “I’d still like to know.”

“Sorry?” Percival asked and Newt looked across at him levelly, though slightly down through his long lashes in a way that made Percival’s heart _ache_ at the familiarity. 

“How we were…involved.” Newt clarified and continued in a rush, as if keen to get it out in the open. “I’ve tried to picture it…how I would have…known you, a hundred different ways and none of them quite fit with what I can remember. There are feelings there; lots of them but they’re all jumbled together and knotted into things that don’t exist for me. It hurts to try to remember on my own but I don’t…I don’t want anyone else in my head trying to explain it to me or digging about for things that just make me feel…” he swallowed, looking unfairly contrite “Guilty.” He looked over at Percival’s sad eyes in desperate question. “I have all this guilt and confusion and…anger. It scares me and I-…there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know what I did to you that was so wrong but if I'm ever going to make amends for it then I should know.”

Newt’s eyes hardened a little there “I would appreciate it if you could tell me and not lie or withhold anything for any reason - don’t think to spare my feelings because I don’t have much left to spare at this point.” He cracked out a dry laugh and there was moisture shining in his eyes then, if only for a second before he sniffed and blinked back to the near blankness, piercing Percival.

“I-…not that you would remember, but I once made a vow that I would never lie to you and I only once broke that promise and, in that case, it was more a matter of lying by a matter of inflexion,” Percival confessed; seeking out the other’s trust as he once had it through his candour. “It was when you came to me asking that I would imprison you so that that _bastard_ Grindelwald’s possessions of your body couldn’t hurt anyone else.” He spoke through slightly gritted teeth but forced his tone to remain as even as he could manage. “I agreed that I would do whatever it took to stop Grindelwald from using you to kill and that I would-…that I would kill you if I had to.” He swallowed, looking deep, searchingly into the glassy green. “I couldn’t do that but I wanted to put your mind to rest so told you that I would. As selfish as it may be and as much as it is a usurpation of my vows as an Auror, I would have put your life ahead of others.”

“Why?” Newt’s face was very slightly flushed, brows furrowed, the glassiness shifting in his eyes to something a bit softer than Percival couldn’t quite place.

“I’ve been told that I can a stubborn bastard about most things and it’s no different when it comes to protecting the ones that I love.” He admittedly with a very slight wry smile twitching the corners of his lips, own eyes shining unrepentantly with unshed sentiment.

“I suppose that’s something we might have in common.” Newt offered him a very small, timid smile, tilting his head towards where he had set down his case by the armchair earlier. “The feelings certainly seem right in my head but…” he paused, as if searching for the proper way to articulate it “I don’t have anything to attach it to…it feels hollow without the memories behind it and the…the only thing that I can recall of an even vaguely similar nature it, well, Grindelwald…not love – not that – but something else…” he looked irredeemably frustrated then, with himself, with his missing memories and likely with the whole Morgana-damned position that he’d been forced into in the first place.

Newt straightened abruptly from where he had been gradually slumping against the wall and moved towards the door with purposeful steps that sounded in desperation and Percival instinctively reached out a hand to catch Newt’s wrist, feeling shock burn through him when they both disappeared in a blind twist of apparation. He got the feeling that Newt hadn’t meant to either apparate or take him along with him but now they both stood on an empty street that while was wholly unfamiliar to him, still seemed to be of the city variety if the rain and mud-slicked cobbles and dilapidated slate-roofed buildings about were any gauge. Warm orange light burned in few of the surrounding curtained windows and it cast Newt’s pale face into a half-hellish glow that perfectly accented the torment that now shone through clearly in his gaze. It was like the glass had cracked and shattered under heat bubbling within him, something burned through the blankness and his pupils had even shrunk, leaving the green, blue and brown flecks shining brighter.

He hadn’t jerked back from Percival’s grip as the Auror had expected him to, had expected him to wrench himself free and head for the hills as he had before…but he didn’t. Newt simply stood there, half-frozen still in the midst of turning from him; eyes wide and undoubtedly afraid. Percival slowly released his grip on the younger man’s worryingly fragile-feeling wrist and slowly ran his thumb along the side of Newt’s in the same way that he had so many times before. Newt’s eyes blinked once, twice and then fixed upon their joined hands in bewilderment, mouth opening a few times as if to speak before shaking his head just slightly. It didn’t seem to be in denial though, more like he was trying to shake loose a troublesome notion and Percival held his breath, hoping, _hoping_ that he’d managed to do something to trigger a memory. Something. _Anything_.

“M-Mr Graves…” Newt began, voice soft and almost pleading and Percival released him as though burned, sensing that he had made a mistake and that nothing had come of the gesture. He shouldn’t have expected such a dramatic change after the failure of gesture last time. He pressed two hands firmly over his face, pressing at his smarting eyes and turning away only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder, pressing down softly through the material of his dark suit jacket. “Cabbages!”

Percival turned abruptly, dark brows furrowed in confusion and concern eating at him that something vital had finally broken for good in the Magizoologist’s head as Newt stared at him questioningly, desperately though with a very slight smile as well. Then it clicked and he too let his lips spread thin but amusedly across his face. “I believe that I do indeed owe Dougal some. Thank you for reminding me, I would so hate to break my promise to him.”

Newt’s smile became almost childlike in its goofiness even if his eyes remained haunted and guarded beneath their sheen of blue-green and he nodded, seeming pleased at the smallest flicker of recollection returning that included Percival. “He’d be terribly disappointed. I’d wager that he probably hasn’t forgotten quite as much as I have…even if it has been so long - it feels like a long time at least…?” he trailed off and Percival nodded in encouragement, confirming the surmising.

“A year ago…when we are both in the clinic together in Austria. If you remember that?”

“I remember being there, yes, but I thought my case had been taken away, including Dougal?”

“That’s right, but that Demiguise had been the one to make sure I actually lived long enough to make it to the clinic. He brought me Dittany when I was injured in the fight trying to free you. I asked you what his favourite was, and you said it was cabbages.”

Newt nodded softly, slowly “I remember telling that to someone and I suppose it makes sense that it was you. Up until now I kind of assumed that it had been Tina or maybe Queenie, when they visited.”

“That would make sense given the circumstances.” Percival replied evenly, not letting any more of his frustration or melancholy leak through more than he could help so as to not make Newt feel any more of the same than he was already clearly feeling. “Is that the only thing you can remember?”

He hedged the question and Newt flushed slightly before reaching into his inner coat pocket and withdrew a scrunched-up sheaf of papers that he hastened to smooth out before holding them out to Percival. He took them with some curiosity, flicking through, quickly recognising his own handwriting and realising that they were the letters he had sent to him over the past year or more. Every one of them had been saved and he could sense the charms that lay upon them – likely cast by Newt before his memories went – that had kept them safe and mostly intact but for a few wrinkles. He knew from experience that not much survived in Newt’s house or case unless it was heavily warded against both creatures and just general environmental damage. It warmed his heart to think that Newt had kept them and that now they might act as a lifeline – a further piece of proof to the Magizoologist that what he felt and what Percival was telling was real. 

“I found them in one of the safe-spots in my case; thought I’d keep them around so that it might help me remember something,” Newt admitted, shoulders shrugging slightly as he eyed the letters with mild frustration creasing his features even as he accepted the papers back from Percival when the Auror returned them. “It-…it sort of helped, I think, but I’m not sure how much of it is real.”

“I could help you.” Percival offered simply, not for the first time but with some degree of firmness more than he had previously – less hesitant and pleading and more like his naturally assertive demeanour.

“I don’t doubt you could but…I’m not sure if the guilt will be worth reawakening and inflicting my…difficulties upon you.”

Percival had to fight a bitterly reminiscent smile as he knew it would be thoroughly inappropriate “You said something very similar to me before, after the last time that bastard-…the last time that he abused you to the point that you thought you couldn’t come back from it. I’ll tell you more or less the same thing I told you before – none of this is your fault. You told me what happened, what he did and as much as it hurt to see you hurt like that…I knew – I _still_ know – that you can carry on being what you always have been. Not someone who can be broken apart by the likes of Gellert fucking Grindelwald - someone who can stand up against him and continue to be the most caring, wonderful individual that I’ve ever had the fortune to meet.” He felt his own eyes smouldering as Newt’s met his again, warm and wide against all probability in the dim half-shadowed streetlights. “And I only hope that I might have the chance to do so all over again. I want to help you, Newt, and whilst I appreciate that this is more difficult than I can likely ever understand, I hope that whatever decisions you make, you do so in your own interests.” He let out a hoarse chuckle “I think the world can stand just one more person being just that little bit selfish if that’s what helps.”

Newt’s expression had been gradually growing softer, more accepting, right up until the end when the hardness descended, and Percival inwardly cursed himself for the slipup and its apparent significance in Newt’s mind. “It was selfishness that let Grindelwald free – on my part and on Dumbledore’s. The _world_ is going to suffer now because of two men arguing over my fate and my being selfish enough to allow it.”

“It's not your fault, Newt – it never was! Grindelwald is wholly responsible for his own thrice-damned actions and Dumbledore is no different! Whatever they did or are doing is no fault of yours.”

“It is my fault that I encouraged Grindelwald in his…. fixation on me. In what we did…that I engaged in-…in that sort of..._perversion_ and-” his voice turned to a whisper then “-enjoyed it whilst I was…I was…_romantically involved_ with you!” He was flushed bright crimson now, seemingly both in anger and mortification at the words that were spilling forth from his lips. Percival felt cold anger clench at his insides and his face went slack with the effort to remain in control of his rage. It was something that was striking a _very_ frayed nerve. The thought of Grindelwald forcing himself upon Newt was awful enough without adding the possibility that Newt had actually encouraged him into it. He hadn’t shown his anger before for fear of hurting Newt further in his fragile state but now…with Newt saying it so fiercely; it was just salt in the wound. 

“I saw you, Newt.” His voice was quiet, harsh and hoarse but nearly inaudible over the light pattering of rain on rooftops and cobblestones. Newt paled as he spoke further, jaw clenching, face white and strained beneath the freckle dusting and scars. “I saw you after Grindelwald did what he did. And there’s no way in hell that I can believe that what happened was consensual. Not with what he did to you or the state you were in after. He’d been messing with the damn bond and with your mind for months before it happened and I’m willing to bet anything that he did the same then…whatever happened was because you’re too damn kind-hearted and empathetic for your own good and because he used that to get what he wanted. But the fact that you’re still here and still pretty damn whole proves that you’re stronger than you think. Whatever he said or tried to make you believe you were or felt is _wrong_.” 

Newt didn’t speak for long enough for Percival to think he was about to bolt again, posture tense and eyes wide before it seemed to leak out of him again and he shook his head softly. “I’m not ‘_whole’_. Not even slightly. I’m running on potions to just get through the few hours I set aside to make sure that Theseus wouldn’t call out a bloody Ministry search party. Me being around anyone right now – especially my brother and the friend who is also carrying his child…I can’t be around any of you. I shouldn’t be here and it was foolish to think that I could explain any of this and still be able to make any sort of a…clean break.”

“If you’re worried about Grindelwald doing anything to hurt them, I promise that I will do my best to help protect them-”

“You didn’t seem to be much good at defending anyone against him before.” Newt cut in bluntly. “Not me. Not yourself. He captured and tortured you as easily as he did me, didn’t he? I gathered that much and I remember him using your identity to hurt people. The only clear memories I have of you or even anything _close_ to you are him using your face to cause more harm.” Newt’s face crumpled into deeper frustration – at himself, it seemed, but also at Percival and whilst it rent him apart, he could still understand where it was coming from. “I know better than anyone that Grindelwald can be hard to predict or fight against - by Paracelsus do I know it! – but I would rather you not make promises that you can’t truly keep just to make me feel better.”

He let out a half-hysterical breath of laughter, pressing a shaking and equally pale hand to his forehead, scrubbing it almost violently across his face as he continued, muttering the words incredulously into his own palm. “I can’t believe that I’m even trying to tell you any of this – that I’m trying to explain stuff you probably already know or could guess even though all I know you as is a stranger! You know seemingly everything about what Grindelwald has done to me and all I know you as is a bloody mask for him! Who’s to say that isn’t what you always were or still are? How am I meant to know what’s real when there is so much missing and only_ him _to fill the gaps? How can I trust that you aren’t just another voice trying to tell me things that I don’t need or deserve to hear?”

Newt's eyes were shining like pools of light with the purest, most heart-wrenching form of desperation that Percival had likely ever seen and he sensed now, that whatever had been holding off the confusion and conflict in Newt until now had dissipated in the wake of such uncertainty. He began tugging at his collar, pulling it aside to reveal a livid, darkly bruised bitemark on one side and top of the Deathly Hallows symbol scar on the other that Percival knew to be there. Newt’s voice was low and cracked. “How can I move past any of this when all I have is reminders of him? Of what I let him do?”

Percival let his anger fuel the boldness that came with the move he made then and stepped forward in quick succession, grabbing Newt’s wrist, pulling it away from the marks and firmly placing his own hand over the bitemark instead. He forced Newt to meet to his eyes, looking up into them with a surety that belied his inner conflict. “This isn’t from him, Newt. this was from me. You asked for it, yes. But it wasn’t Grindelwald that did it. You asked me to do it so that you could make a claim against what Grindelwald had already done to you. You asked me to make it permanent because you didn’t want the only lasting marks on you to be from him. You wanted a sign that I loved you to be there. If that doesn’t tell me what you wanted or didn’t, then I can’t think of anything else that would.”

Newt had frozen in his grip and Percival maintained eye contact for several seconds more before he removed his hands both from his grip on Newt’s wrist and his collarbone. If Newt wanted to bolt now, then he wouldn’t be particularly surprised, but he made sure to keep his gaze earnest and level upon Newt’s own. He seemed to struggle with words for some time, lips pressed together in a thin line before he eventually averted his gaze then looked back at him through lowered lashes that cast shadows on his cheeks in the orange semi-glow of the curtained windows around. “So you’re saying that we…that we were, um, that…intimate-” he cleared his throat slightly, flushing pink before finishing in an awkward mumble “-physically too?”

“On several occasions, yes.” Percival spoke, fondness lacing his tone but carefully hiding his misplaced nostalgic amusement at seeing the Magizoologist so abashed – knowing that the Newt he met a year ago would find the idea preposterous and that the Newt before him only had memories of much darker kind plaguing him.

Newt nodded slowly, as if absorbing the information before he gestured to his neck where Percival's lips had once made their mark “And this…this wasn’t from Grindelwald.” It was phrased as a statement, but Percival nodded encouragingly. He seemed to consider it further before sighing out a shaky breath, stepping forward, invading Percival’s personal space in a way that while wasn’t unwelcome was also somewhat troubling given the slightly manic shine his eyes had taken on since the dam broke. “You do realise that’s there’s no easy fix for…this? That I’m not going to suddenly snap back to being the man that you knew overnight. I feel different. Even my creatures seemed to have sensed it…they treat me like I’m dangerous - volatile…and I’m honestly not sure they’re wrong.”

His voice was so sad, so soft, that Percival couldn’t hold back the warmth in his eyes anyone and the tears began to trace their way in thin trails down his cheeks, carving out a warmer path through the rain. He swallowed past the thickness in his throat, not letting the tears ruin the firmness of his voice as he spoke “Maybe you are different, Newt, but perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing. You’ve voiced more of yourself to me tonight than I ever expected you to and if you managed to see that sadistic, delusional bastard again and still have the courage to come here…maybe it just means that you’ll come out of this stronger than before.”

“Certainly doesn’t feel like it.” Newt huffed out with a shade of humour but also some degree of thoughtfulness that had a tendril of hope rising within Percival – that Newt might be seriously considering his words. 

“It won’t. You’ve got through Grindelwald’s bullshit before and I believe that you can do it again.”

“But not by sticking around the people who he sees simply as things that can be used to hurt me when I don’t do what he wants” Newt replied firmly “or someone who can only remind me of him.”

“Now that I can understand.” Percival admitted, weight in his heart and voice “I left before. From the clinic, because I knew that he had used my face to hurt you and I knew that leaving was better for you. I tried to convince myself that staying away was for the best and I think it did for a while, but we still found our ways back to each other. Do you remember Queenie and Jacob’s wedding?”

Newt frowned and inclined his head slightly “If I recall correctly, I spent most of it in my case. Wasn’t very sociable at all, nothing new, I suppose” He let out a nervous chuckle “I remember Theseus acting like an ass and leaving early… made quite a scene, I think.”

“Try to think about why you spent so long in your case. Why Theseus was being more pompous and controlling than usual. Who he was arguing with…” Percival prompted, hoping that it might jog something if he pushed Newt in the right direction of the memories concerning himself. 

Newt shook his head, frowning deeper “I can’t…there’s just nothing there…it’s like…like trying to cast a line but there’s not even any water to throw into…it’s just air. I try substituting in your face to what’s missing it still doesn’t feel right…got no ground to stand on so I just keep on sinking, or floating, it’s hard to tell with any certainty…” He looked back up to meet Percival’s gaze apologetically, frustration simmering hotly and hands trembling even as he fisted them at his sides. “I’m sorry...I can’t.” 

“It’s not your fault, Newt.”

He offered him a crooked smile, crooked in that only half of his face seemed to be able to fuel it “Well I highly doubt that the one who’s actually at fault is going to be offering apologies any time soon.” 

“I can’t argue with you there.” Percival conceded with a huff, channelling his frustration into movement against his slightly atrophied muscles that had stiffened in the cold and rain, looking about at the darkened street once more before turning back to Newt with an inquisitive, gauging quirk of the eyebrow. “I don’t know about you, but I would rather not stand about in the street all night, would you be willing to return to Theseus’? I’m sure that Queenie and Jacob could whip you up something that doesn’t contain meat.”

Newt looked mildly surprised by the thought before shaking his head, though seemingly in bemusement rather than denial “I shouldn’t really be surprised that you know about that too by this point. Is there anything that you _don’t_ know about me?”

The question was half bitter and half genuine and Percival offered him a smile that seemed to send a slight shiver through the Magizoologist as his cheeks flushed again. “Well if there was anything then I wouldn’t be able to tell you, now would I?” 

“I suppose not.” Newt’s smile was fully-formed in that moment; sad and cracked around the edges but genuine and it made Percival’s own lips twitch up to meet them in a mirroring expression across his face. The Magizoologist reached forward and tentatively gripped Percival’s coat-covered forearm and apparated in a flash that might’ve once surprised him with the speed and accuracy but by now, he expected it from the Scamander brothers. Newt especially. They were back in the living room and startled a clearly agitated group of Americans – especially Jacob – who nearly dropped his plate onto the carpet only for it to be saved Queenie’s quick wand work.

“Shoot, sorry bout that,” Jacob mumbled, accepting the plate back from his wife with a grateful grin and an awkward glance back toward Percival and Newt, the latter of which had released the former’s arm rather hastily. “Nice to see ya again, Newt.”

“You too, Jacob. It’s been a long time.” He offered a weak but again genuine seeming smile though didn’t move forward to accept the proffered hand to shake and the No Maj lowered it slowly. Newt paused, scratching at the back of his head with one hand absently before looking about the room in a clear plea for someone to break the silence.

Queenie brightened as brittlely and artificially as the lights that shone above them and gestured towards the kitchen door “Well dinners still warm if anyone’s hungry?”

One by one they all filed in behind the Legilamens and Percival’s careful eyes tracked every move that Newt made and twitch of his face as the Auror followed behind him into the room that thankfully now smelt overwhelmingly of a strongly herbal cloying scent rather than of the former smell of roasting meat. All could sense the webbing of charms that had been used to achieve the difference, but none mentioned it aloud. Looking around, Percival realised that he couldn’t see the elder Scamander anywhere around, the backdoor was slightly ajar and in the depths of the darkened garden, he spotted the slight glow of a lit wand-tip. He apparated outside without a second thought and somewhat delighted in the startled gasp and muffled swearing that prompted from the Brit as he hastily dropped and stomped the lit cigarette he had been holding. Theseus turned and his look turned from guilty to irritated as he saw that it was Percival. “Damn it, Graves, thought you were-”

“Tina?” Percival asked with a tired smirk and offered his wand-tip to light the next smoke that the other was fumbling from his pocket. The Brit paused before leaning down to light up and breathed out a mouthful of smoke into the cold air with a glare.

“She doesn’t want me smoking at all, let around her right now.”

“Damn straight.”

“Things are difficult enough without me buggering up my child before they’re even born…more so than I already have.” He looked mournful and scornful in equal amounts.

“Enough of that, Scamander.” Percival admonished cuttingly and Theseus looked up abruptly “Newt can’t have you falling apart right now. Neither can Tina. And neither can your kid.” Percival grimaced but looked over at the other levelly; any awkwardness he might have felt at the following words having already been drained out of him into so many other things. “You’re a decent man and I suspect that you’ll be a decent father too. No matter what your own father was like, it obviously didn’t ruin you or Newt so don’t expect that just because you had a shitty example that you’ll do the same. Learn from it.” He smirked a little at the dumbfounded look on the other’s face “Besides, I damn well doubt that Tina would let you do anything too stupid with any child of hers.”

“Now that I can agree with.” Tina’s voice sounded from behind him and both jumped, Theseus repeating his earlier drop and stomp with a flush rising in his cheeks. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest and a half stern, half-amused expression upon her face. “Both of you get inside out of the rain, sit down and behave like civilised people.” Her brown eyes drifted to Percival and softened slightly “Newt wanted to eat in the living room if you want to join him. Said the smell was still making him feel ill. Or rather didn’t say it, I suppose but Queenie knew what he meant.”

The elder American nodded gratefully and followed the two back through the kitchen, snagging a plate that thankfully contained no meat and just a plentiful supply of roasted, mashed or boiled vegetables and a hefty chunk of homemade seeded, buttered bread. He entered the other room to see Newt perched upon the edge of a chair, head in heads and plate left neglected on the floor by where his feet were tapping out an uneven, nervous rhythm upon the carpet. Percival stood for several seconds before silently going sit in his previous seat, going about eating and letting Newt sit for as long as he needed before he eventually noticed that Newt was sweating profusely, pupils blown wide again, and his previous trembles had intensified drastically.

He placed his meal down and hastened toward Newt, crouching before him and carefully gripping his wrists, drawing them away from where they had been digging into the sides of his face. There were red imprints left around the thin white lines where silver had once lain, he had been pulling just as he used to when experiencing invasive, traumatic memories and as Percival had done so many times before out of instinct, he pulled Newt into his arms. His brain caught up with the action seconds later and froze, attempting to move back before Newt shoved him away but felt surprised when that didn’t happen. Newt, too, had frozen, sinking slightly back into the cushions of his chair and as rigid as if he had been petrified. He was shivering still but just barely and Percival wrenched himself back in horror as he saw the fear plain in the younger man’s eyes…the distant expression that suggested that he was far away from the reality of the situation and that – as it had many times before – his mind was warping that reality into something much more familiar and terrifying. 

“Newt? Newt! What are you seeing?”

The Magizoologist seemed insensible to his cries, staring straight ahead and while his eyes were upon Percival, they clearly weren’t seeing _him. _But then Newt spoke and Percival felt sure that something within him broke. “You…you tried to…you hurt me…you pinned me down and-…you were there…in Nurmengard…you-” he cut himself off as his eyes properly focussed, still blown wide but recognising him properly now in that current time and place and the terror in them had Percival moving back hastily on shaking legs, horrified and furious in equal amounts. Horrified that the first memories to return to Newt of him were not in fact of the real him but of Grindelwald’s impersonation.

Fury, because he knew that Grindelwald had probably intended for it happen this way.

“No, Newt, _no_, that wasn’t me-”

Anger flooded Newt then as he too stood, pushing himself off the chair in a fluid movement that belied his shaking, drawn appearance. “You’re just like him, aren’t you? How could I have ever been so stupid so as to believe that you weren’t just like him? That I could ever make someone love me who wasn’t a monster?” He looked distraught and disgusted and furious - each word he spoke tore at Percival like serrated hooks in his heart, in the very flesh of it and jerked the words from his chest with the force of it.

“NO, Newt! That was _not_ me. It was _Grindelwald_. All it ever was was him trying to mess with your head. You told me about it – in Nurmengard, he assaulted you and used my face and Dumbledore’s too so that he could hurt you more. He’s trying to confuse you now too – he’s trying to make you push yourself away from me so that he can make you think that you love him and not me. But it’s not true, Newt – you may have some sort of feelings for him but you loved me and I’m sure you still do – all you have to do is remember!” 

Newt was glaring at him fiercely “You act as if it were that simple! How do I know that you’re not lying to me and trying to do the same thing that he is? I don’t know why you’d bother going so far with all this unless you were just as sadistic and deluded as he is. You both find it fun, don’t you? Messing with my head and watching me break apart?”

“I would never do that to you, Newt. I am nothing like Grindelwald. I wouldn’t ever put you through what he has. I love you for more reasons than I can count but none of which include wanting to abuse you as he has. Grindelwald tortured both of us and if I ever get my hands on him, I swear to you that I will skin the bastard for what he’s done to you but I would also offer him the mercy of a quick, painless death if that’s what you asked me to do because ultimately you were the one who’s been most wronged by him of anyone.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to be a revelation, Mr Graves. It isn’t. And as for you loving me…?” Newt paused, swallowing hard and eyes flickering with a cavalcade of pain and conflict “He says he does too. What makes your…fascination any less damning than his? You may not have hurt me yet this time around, but you seem more concerned with me remembering you than with anything else. Is it to assuage some guilt of your own? To try to justify what you’ve done? I don’t remember much of you at all, but your actions now seem more born of a need to absolve yourself of something and whatever it is, is your business alone.” His gaze softened, more to himself but still frustrated beyond control “As I said before, you seem earnest enough in whatever you mean to do but I would very much appreciate it if you would leave me to my own affairs.” 

“Newt-” he began but Newt shook his head minutely, stepping around him widely, arms raised as if to protect himself from Percival’s frozen advance.

“Please don’t, Mr Graves, I…I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.” He headed towards the door, calling his suitcase to his white-knuckled, shaking hand as he did so and only pausing with a fleeting glance of apology. “And please…tell Queenie that I’m sorry she had to hear…any of this.” He made a vague gesture towards his own head before turning on his heel in a blur of colour. 

Percival blanched and moved to follow but wasn’t quick enough this time to snag the blue-coated sleeve of the man who had left him so inwardly disintegrating. He felt a gentle pressure push upon the borders of his own mind, testing the Occlumency fields and finding them soft after the alcohol and a moment later, he heard the door click open behind him. A soft, feminine arm wrapped around him and a petite hand gripped onto his shoulder as Queenie pressed her head into the side of his arm, he could feel her shuddering with tears but neither turned to look at the other as they both stared at the spot that had so recently contained a distraught magizoologist and friend.

“He’s hurting so bad, honey.” Queenie’s voice was soft and very sad against his arm and he nodded, ignoring the burning in his own eyes again even as it spilt over slightly. “He didn’t mean to make you feel like this. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and he’s messing around with stuff that he just shouldn’t to try to make it all go away…” 

“I know…I just wish he would've stayed - I could’ve left and you could’ve helped…” he trailed off as he felt her shake her head, drawing back a bit and twisting around to brace both hands against his lower arms with a firm look in her brimming eyes.

“No, it wouldn’t’ve made a difference anyway. He was gonna leave no matter what you did. He only came here to make us feel better. I can’t be around him now because he don’t want me in his head. He don’t want _anyone_ in there and I can see why. I can’t control it when there’s pain just…_leaking_ outta him like that.” She sniffed, wiping her eyes and smudging her carefully applied makeup as she did so but not seeming to care at all for the wide black smudges she left in her hand’s wake. “He needs time to sort out what’s going on and I don’t think that there’s anything any of us could’ve done right now to change that…he just needs time and for you to be there when he fixes that damn huge hole in his brain.”

Percival’s attention snapped a little more into focus at that and questioned her softly, desperately “You were in his head? You saw what was missing? Do you think there’s anything that you could do to-” 

She shook her head sympathetically “If there were anything don’t ya think I woulda said?” Her gaze was haunted, and Percival could only imagine what she had seen and heard in Newt’s mind and did not envy her being subjected to Grindelwald’s unsurmountable abuses even second-hand. “He kept pushing me out without even realising he was doing it. Hurts just being around him even before he starts thinking about…any of that. It felt like he was trying to push himself out of his own head and just did the same with me too…the hole started off different before his memories got taken but then it just didn’t stop getting bigger.”

“Will they come back? The memories? On their own, I mean?”

“I don’t know, honey, I just don’t know. This ain’t like any normal obliviating or potion work I’ve ever seen and whatever that bond thing did when it came out was different from any normal magic even if it was…Grindelwald who did it too.”

“Right,” Percival murmured, not sure how to articulate his frustration and feeling his fists clenching repeatedly at his sides, going straight for his half-full glass from earlier, downing it in one swig and quickly moving to fill it back up again. He paused before pouring out another two, offering one to Queenie who went at it bravely and then holding it up to the figure he had glimpsed hovering at the kitchen doorway, stern and silent.

“Cheers.” Theseus muttered tonelessly, moving forward to take it and attacking it with the room’s communal misery-laden abandon. “Should’ve expected this really.”

“Hm,” Percival grunted, sitting down heavily in his seat and ungently toeing aside his cold dinner plate.

“Queenie’s right. He never would’ve stayed long. And right now, you’re just a face with a whole lot of confusion tacked onto it with no real meaning to anything. I know you don’t want to let go of him, Graves, but if there ever was a time-” he fixed a stare dead on and surprised Percival by continuing in a bitter but meaningful tone “-this would _not_ be it. You were probably one of the few things keeping him going towards the end while he was in that damn cell…after what Grindelwald was doing…without that all he can see is darkness and if remembering you is what brings him back from - whatever the hell this even is - you’ve got my support in it.” 

Percival returned the other Auror’s stare directly for several moments, gaugingly before nodding slowly “I’ll do my best to try to make him remember but I think that Queenie has a point about him needing time. All we can do for now is keep tabs on him to make sure he stays about as on the rails as he can.”

“What do you think I was doing whilst you and Newt disappeared off into nowhere?” Theseus asked, gesturing with his glass to the spot where Newt’s case had resided with a slight snort of derision.

“You charmed it?” Percival asked with a raised brow and Theseus nodded, sipping his drink until even the dregs were gone and placed it smartly down on the table.

“Had a lot of damn practice with keeping an eye on that idiot, going on twenty-odd years now. Did you honestly think I’d leave him vanishing off again to chance after his stunt at Nurmengard?” 

“And knowing Newt, do _you_ honestly think that any of those charms’ll go unnoticed for long?” He commented with a very tired smirk.

Theseus grimaced and half-shrugged “Best I can do for now and in my experience, Newt can often be found simply by following the trail of destruction to the biggest damn creature-related disaster there is, and he’ll be right in the middle of it.”

Percival’s own grimace widened, and he tipped his drink in the other’s direction in a gesture of acknowledgement “Damn straight.” 


	3. A party in the forest

_“Don't fret, precious, I'm here, step away from the window and go back to sleep. Safe from pain and truth and choice and other poison devils, see, they don't give a fuck about you, like I do..._

_I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and all your demons, I'll be the one to protect you from, a will to survive and a voice of reason._

_I must isolate you, isolate and save you from yourself.” _

_‘Counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums’ – A Perfect Circle_

It took him less than two weeks to track down the first of the missing creatures from the Circus Arcanus, travelling and tracking their trails across towns, cities and international borders by magical traces, rumours, scents and the odd site of destruction or urban folklore that indicated to each creatures’ whereabouts. On his journeys, Newt also found himself in the position where he was finally forced to admit that a few of his friends were no longer in need of his help and companionship, so returned them to whence they came as the opportunities arose. As much as it saddened him to bid farewell to Geoffrey the Leucrotta as he passed through Czechoslovakia and the family of Ashwinders to the area of Romanian forest they had hailed from several years before, Newt knew – better than most – that they were not pets to be kept and coddled. They no longer needed his help as they once had – Geoffrey now healed from his incidental injuries and the Ashwinders safer in their new region of forest that he found for them further along the Bavarian mountain range. He had been understandably nervous of entering the area so close to where Nurmengard was situated but that skittishness had been trumped by his desire to see the creatures returned to their natural habitats and to stay long enough to see them settle in successfully.

In fact, Newt encountered little trouble at all from his travels and escapades until just when he was about to leave the Erhwald region for good, having spent nearly four days settling the oddly skittish Ashwinders back into a new location for their nest amongst the trees. He had been dismantling the wards set up around his camp - a lengthy process that took some time to place initially and almost as long to properly undo – when he sensed that he was being watched. It wasn’t a new feeling, far from it, Newt had felt the presence of unseen eyes tracing his every flaw, flinch and movement both in his waking and sleeping nightmares that had dogged him so much worse than the presence of any creature ever could. The heat of silver and blue blistering his insides and sending contrasting flushes of heat and shivers through him, making him feel a feverish sensation that burned through his potion induced numbness like it wasn’t even there in the first place. He often felt the eyes and whispers upon him, sharp teeth catching at his earlobe as that awfully familiar voice murmured equally acquainted words to him whenever he grew too complacent.

He could probably blame some of it on the lack of sleep. Honestly, Newt spent more time glaring at his bed as if it had done him some grievous affront rather than actually sleeping in it, but he couldn’t blame everything on something so simple. Newt knew that the visions and fleeting yet equally horrible flashbacks were symptoms of a much deeper sickness that had rooted itself within him but even the pale, invasive tongue that glided across his skin or the cool hands that grasped and pulled and stroked and twisted and caressed-…no he couldn’t blame that all on the lack of sleep.

However, the current paranoia that stood up the hairs on his leanly muscled arms even more so than the brisk mountain air did, felt more focussed as the stare was not close or concentrated so deeply upon him that he felt as if he were boiling in his own skin. No, this stare he could pinpoint as he let his tainted green eyes track across the landscape of bare rock higher above him upon the slopes, where the trees became sparser and the fog had descended. Newt could see the vague shapes of…something moving through the mist, more than one somethings, but the clearer ones were those lower down the haze – stronger silhouettes of winged creatures that let out an achingly familiar call as they moved as one across the mountainside. He felt the first genuine smile of quite some time split across his face as he abandoned his work, sprinting and scrambling up the slopes up towards where he could see the shapes moving swiftly across the sky even through the haze.

He managed to find a worn mountain-goat trodden path of dirt that allowed him an easier climb but paid little attention to his footwork, senses instead fixed on the silhouettes of the herd of Hippogriffs that soon broke out of the cloud bank and into his line of sight. There must have been nearly two dozen of the magnificent and most welcomely familiar beasts – varying in their shades and sizes but all at their full wing-span length as they soared further down past where he ran and followed the natural curve of the hillside. 

The tawny coloured Hippogriffs, in particular, caught Newt’s attention as they were closest to the variety that his mother had once kept in the copse by his family home, he traced out their familiar undertail coverts, primary and tail feathers although spotting differences in the varieties despite the distance. He was awed by the sight as herds rarely took flight in the areas that were more accessible to humans by foot and even more rarely did so as a large group. Newt allowed his keen gaze to further investigate the phenonium by skating behind and ahead of them to seek out the source of the odd behaviour – he got his answer in the form of a low rumbling that shook the ground on which he stood alongside the sudden increase in the creatures’ pace across the sky. 

It seemed that something – for the occurrence certainly hadn't been incited by the relatively mild weather – had triggered a landslide and a large amount of snow-capped rock and debris was now cascading down the hillside toward him. It wasn’t a major issue as far as natural disasters went as Newt had certainly faced worse and with more lives at stake but seeing the herd of Hippogriffs fleeing what must’ve been their home further up the mountain arose a familiar fierce protective passion within him that burned away the apathy once more. There was nothing he could really do to stop the slide in its entirety, but he certainly could alter its trajectory so that it would hopefully cause less damage and maybe slow it down a little. He apparated further back down the mountainside, snagging his case in a flying move before reappearing on a peak higher above the collapse and in a decent vantage point to better gauge his course of action. Newt started with a series of cushioning and freezing charms to limit the corrosion and slow the trajectory of the persisting slide, working with a webbing of interlocking charms that each did smaller parts to divert the rumble and structural decay.

He was only distracted from his work when the cry of a distressed birdlike creature echoed across the land towards him, his head shot up to see that one the stragglers of the herd had been caught in the edge of the cascading debris and soon disappeared below the cloud of descending dust. Panic gripped him as he apparated without even thinking, reappearing quickly close to the last spot he had seen the flagging Hippogriff, he was instantly choked by the thick cloud of dust, eyes smarting and coated arm doing little to protect his sight as he waded as best he could blindly forward. He momentarily considered casting a bubblehead charm but knew that it would only fill his lungs with air that was already tainted by the stone dust so instead cast a non-verbal _Ventus_ charm that blew a portion of the grime away. The rock and turf were still shifting alarmingly around him and below his booted feet, but he could now see the clearly injured Hippogriff just ahead down the slope and struggled onward with all the more determination because of it. The inky coloured creature was trapped beneath several layers of heavy debris and the broken carcass of a tree that had pinned one wing and prevented her from flying after her apparently oblivious herd.

The youth was calling out desperately, only looking to be recently out of infancy and clearly terrified by her sudden plight, it tore at Newt’s already damaged heart to see a member of such a proud species so vulnerable but didn’t simply dive straight over to intervene as he wanted to. Spotting a nearby yet untouched area of rocky outcrop, he apparated over, ahead of where the Hippogriff had been trapped so that he could gain her line of sight and hopefully her trust enough so that she would allow him to help. Any simpleton knew that approaching a Hippogriff – especially one in peril – without permission was a distinctly terrible idea. Despite all the movement, after several far too long seconds, Newt finally managed to catch the intimidating orange gaze that skated over him suspiciously before settling firmly upon his own. Nearly a minute passed, Newt forcibly ignoring the way that his current perch was shifting uncertainly beneath him and purveying as much respect, admiration and trust as he could with his eyes alone. It ended with the Hippogriff breaking his stare and letting out a low, long screech and flapped more furiously than ever, Newt swore under his breath as he realised a moment too late that in his distraction he had neglected to notice the continuing deluge of rubble that had now dislodged his branch. The wood and rock splintered, and his feet slammed hard into the ground, offsetting his balance as sharp pain shot up his left ankle with a crack that was lost in the roar of the rumbling rock.

The next thing he knew was a blind flash of colour as his head connected solidly with a particularly jagged piece of rubble, a brief moment of blackness and then he was sliding along with the rest of the detritus. Images began spinning and contorting themselves in front of his half-lidded eyes, familiar faces and unwelcome touches clawing at his senses all around. Reality flickered in and out of focus as Grindelwald’s face blurred through the haze of choking debris and dust. It warped into a myriad of expressions ranging from rage, hunger, glee, hurt, bewilderment and that odd, sick satisfaction that only came when Newt surprised him in some way. Other faces twisted in too, Albus, Graves, Tina, Queenie, Theseus and Credence blurring through in sickening, dizzying spirals and combinations that marred their features into one another – a nightmarish version of when Gellert used his vast power to take on the guises of those Newt cared most for to torment him. Back when his sole goal had seemed that much easier to understand for Newt – when punishment and his suffering had been all that the dark wizard sought from him. Before he began to care…before things had gotten so very complicated…He was pervaded by the vision of Graves pinning him to the metal-framed bed – biting and choking and stroking at him as those treacherous words of insidious insight dripping from his tongue in that smooth, horribly usurped voice…it clicked in his head then that that was exactly it! The memories of Graves bearing down upon him with sick intent gleaming in mahogany eyes and handsome features had not been the true man – it had been Gellert…just Gellert…just as the Auror had told him. He recalled the transformations now, sliding from one to another in a cycle of the same three faces. Albus. Graves. Gellert. It was a trick. Just a trick. Graves had been right to accuse Grindelwald of wanting things to come back to him in this way…the mis-associated notions of terror and confusion attributing to Graves…Percival…it was all just more of Gellert’s vile work. Why should have ever expected anything else but for the unsound state of his fractured nerves? 

Some degree of coherency came back to him then as the pained, desperately scared calls of the Hippogriff finally tore through both the haze of mind and of the rockslide, he became aware of the rocks and tumbling sensation crushing down on him and apparated before he could truly focus. Newt might’ve felt the tear of a fingernail and perhaps a section of hair coming off in a brutal splinch but gritted his teeth in the various barrages of pain coming from all over his body and focussed his attention solely upon the large slab of rock that was currently pinning down the scared young creature beside him. She buffeted at him frantically with her free wing but whether it was in defence or encouragement, he honestly couldn’t have said at that moment, instead he levitated the stone off of the injured limb. The second she was free from the crushing weight, the young Hippogriff tried to take flight, eyes searching desperately across the sky – presumably for her missing clan. Newt limped forward, careful this time, of the slowing stream of rubble that was moving across the landscape and creating a small, shielded area for himself and his charge, while it still let some smaller fragments and dust through, it protected them enough for the time being as he set about examining the damage. 

The wing was still wholly attached but most definitely broken, the creature cawing furiously as he gently probed along the fractures with careful, though shaky fingers and he was forced to release her quickly lest he lose a finger when her beak came snapping at him. “It’s alright, little one, you’re going to be alright. Just hold still for me. Please?” The female looked at him levelly, surveying until she stilled in her thrashing and attempts to jab at him, he stroked a delicate hand over her head before putting the other on her inky feathered chest and apparated. He had the sense to leap backwards the moment he landed on safe ground again and narrowly avoided her agitated kicks and pecks, though, in his injured state, he managed to trip backwards into the shallow stream that ran not feet away. He splashed to a halt by setting himself abruptly down on the other bank, the shallow water soaking damp and freezing through his boots but also numbing a little of the pain in his injured ankle. He coughed some of the dust from his lungs, not taking his eyes off the Hippogriff as she flapped and staggered sideways, trying desperately to regain her balance before seeming to accept that she wasn’t taking flight any time soon and crouching forward, folding her legs, hooves and wing into herself protectively. Her large amber eyes regarded him suspiciously but with some degree of respect that told Newt that she may not entirely trust him but probably wasn’t going to refuse help from him if he offered it. 

Knowing that his own injuries called for attention before he tried to calm and treat the wounded creature, he turned his gaze down to himself, taking in the dust, rubble and even spots of blood covering his raiment. His ankle wasn’t broken, merely sprained rather badly so set about casting a rudimentary splint that would make do until he could properly hunt down some herbs later to help with the swelling and pain. There was nothing he could do about the splinched fingernail and merely conjured bandages to wrap the bloody end of his index finger. The main issue was the blow he had taken to his head – as much as he was somewhat grateful for the mostly incomprehensible blur of half-formed memories to have triggered a little of what he was missing, he knew that self-treating head wounds was often a tricky and fraught process. He felt gingerly about the blood matting the curls at the side of his head and hissed, even with the potion still numbing most feeling out of him, he could still feel a steady, sharp throbbing both within and on his skull. Fumbling about within his pocket, he pushed past a broken quill, some small bundles of cloth containing dead insects and several crumpled bits of decomposing plants before he found an unbroken (charmed) bottle of Ashwood powder mixed with a choice selection of other healing substances. He took a hearty swig of it and felt the familiar rush of numbness that came with the abuse of the mixture – he took too much. He knew he did. Relied upon it too heavily and as such, even after only less than a month of constant use, Newt could tell that it was losing its effect on him. He grimaced as the pain only slightly lessened but forced himself past his rudimentary ministrations to care for the Hippogriff.

“Hello there, you’re alright, sweetheart, just stay still and I’ll have that wing fixed in a jiffy.” He spoke softly in endearing words that twanged within his mind in an oddly, warmly familiar way. The Magizoologist stepped lightly until he was close enough to place one hand upon her beak, trailing one thumb across the hooked ridge of it in a soothing motion as the other hand went about the dangerous task of tracing the breaks in her wing. The inky feathers had been disrupted along the injury and some even pulled out by how hard she had attempted to free herself and Newt was dismayed to find unsure bone in no less than four places along the damaged wing. She wasn’t happy with the contact by any means but he managed to soothe her with soft words and a careful, sure stroking of her head and neck, by the time he had assessed the injury to the best of his ability, she had sunk once more to the ground and was regarding him through half-lidded amber eyes.

He bit his lip and observed his surroundings critically, spotting a sturdier tree out of the forest, using his wand to cut away a branch of Beechwood to make a splint, he summoned a knife from his case and began whittling down the length until it was of a suitable size and thickness to be used. His hands still shook a little, scraped and bloody but he completed his task to his satisfaction within minutes, pleased with his work as he relaxed into the repetitive motions. There was a throbbing behind his eyes that persisted as he set about affixing his creation along her wing, cinching it firmly but not harshly along the bone with summoned leather straps to keep the Metacarpals secure as he exerted a little gentle healing magic upon the finer vertebrae that had been damaged. He often found birdlike creatures more difficult to heal as their bone structure was much more complicated and the bones were hollow, specifically designed for flight – one wrong move and he could hamper their ability to fly. He allowed himself to sink past the realm of noticing his own instabilities, moving his wand in healing motions and soothing the Hippogriff the whole time in thankfully acquainted motions, slipping back into behaviours similar, perhaps, to those he performed as a youth. Following his mum about the yard and woods from as early as he could remember, earning the respect and trust of all that he could – but most especially the Hippogriffs that she cared for so attentively.

Newt was guiding the ailing Hippogriff over to his case and had just managed to coax her inside of it with lumps of raw rabbit he had set aside for some of the other carnivorous creatures when he felt the eyes upon him again. The Magizoologist closed the lid after the beast, the magical nature of the luggage having guided her to the area he intended with a flick and click of the settings on the outside of the trunk from ‘Muggleworthy’ to ‘Aviary’ from amongst the myriad of settings. He looked around, expecting to perhaps see the other Hippogriffs returning to the higher forests to seek out their missing family member but saw no feathers or hooves in sight. What he did spot however was a dark shape high above him in the upper hills again, not in any discernible shape of man or beast that he could tell but then again, it was miles above and skirting the edge of the cloud of debris and dust that still rose from far below, following the direction of the wind. He straightened from his crouch to stare properly and considered seeking out the shape only for it to disappear into the haze in the space of a blink of his eyes, he stood staring after it for some time, puzzled but not overly concerned. This wouldn’t be the first time he felt unwanted eyes upon him or imagined shapes, forms and faces that weren’t really there but it made it no less unsettling to have to ponder the possibility that it could be real or just a worsening of his own delusions. He wasn’t sure which idea he preferred. It hurt to still be doubting even once he had supposedly won back his agency over himself. 

Newt set his wards up as he usually might, working until the forest was almost fully submerged in darkness as what little light had been making its way through the cloud of grit dissipated. He wasn’t going to leave the mountainside until either the ailing Hippogriff recovered enough to leave on her own or her family returned, it seemed as good as any a place to camp providing there were no more landslides. The one that had occurred had been an anomaly and part of him was suspicious that it had been caused deliberately but even were that the case, there was little he could do to protect himself and his creatures more than he was already doing with his defences and spells. He returned to his case and clambered inside to check on the Hippogriff, smiling as he saw that the Phoenix had come to greet her in his absence and that surprisingly enough, the two seemed to be showing one another respect and even some kind of affection as the Phoenix perched close on the lower edges of the rock by where the Hippogriff had settled herself. The pair of winged creatures were exchanging long stares and neither showed complaint as Newt settled himself on a mossy area of ground nearby, absently scratching the head of a Mooncalf who had wandered over from their enclosure. The Magizoologist supposed that it made sense for both young, proud, powerful members of their respective species to bond even if quite so quickly and was pleased to see that the largely antisocial Phoenix had sought out the newcomer so quickly.

He had been prepared to set aside a private enclosure entirely for the Hippogriff what with her species’ natural pride and her vulnerable state but deciding that it wasn’t actually necessary for the time being as she seemed to take some comfort from the fellow magical bird-beast’s presence. Her inky feathers and slightly lighter coat shone through dully under the coating of dirt that had settled upon her and even with her wing furled inward protectively and cumbersomely due to the wrappings, she held an undeniable unique beauty that shone through still. She reminded him a little of an older male that had among his mother’s herd – a fiercely grouchy specimen that had ironically been named WardWing and despite knowing that his current charge wasn’t going to be staying with him long, the name that floated to the forefront of his mind still seemed to fit from the second he thought of it.

Trying out the name on both his own tongue and the creature in question, he found that it made him smile, just a little, as she turned her head to look at him as he spoke. “Starktail.”

She inclined her head to the side slightly, cocking it before turning her head down and curving her front hooves below her, seemingly settling down to sleep, his smile remained, knowing that she was likely exhausted and that sleep would be best for her injury and nerves both. The Magizoologist scrutinized the Phoenix and spoke almost playfully but with some degree of sincerity too “Keep an eye on her for me, will you? Can’t have either of you getting into more trouble, now can I?” The crimson bird did not dignify the words with a response but flapped irritably once before settling down too, eyes narrowed but dutifully fixed somewhere near his new charge – clearly trying to make it seem as though he was doing it of his own accord rather than at Newt’s suggestion and the man couldn’t help but chuckle a little under his breath.

He plodded resignedly over to his hut, flopping down to sit on his cot and calling a jar of paste over to him, spreading it gingerly over the swollen skin of his injured ankle below his boot and then summoned a tin bowl of water and cloth with which to tend the bleeding gash on the side of his head. He dabbed at it mercilessly, closing his eyes against the sensation of cool water droplets beading and sliding along the skin of his face and neck, the innocent sensation transforming itself into the cold onslaught of unwanted fingers, stroking and sliding over him even as he tried to shake it away. He only realised minutes later that he was no longer doing anything productive with the cloth when he found it fisted in his lap, squeezing cold water over his thighs and only spreading the feeling of violation further. Newt let it drop numbly from his fist onto the floor, letting his muscles slacken as he lay horizontally across his bed with his boots dangling across the edge and head touching the wall in a heavily grounding gesture.

It was there that he lay still in a numbed haze many hours later when he felt a warning twang in the wards set up around his case.

He shot up quickly, wincing both at the abrupt summersault his stomach did as his head spun sickeningly and also at the sensation of dried blood breaking as his head disconnected from the bedcovers. One hand shot to the wound to find it no longer actively bleeding but still damp with the dried gore having cracked apart, he cast a quick scouring charm over it, hissing as the stinging cleansing burned through the wound and got unsteadily to his feet. There was part of him that wanted very badly to just ignore the alarm that was tingling through where his wand was still jammed unceremoniously into his shirt sleeve, but he knew that he couldn’t and that doing so would only end badly. He tugged and straightened his askew clothing into some semblance of order and ascended the ladder into what was the cold, strained blue-back of late-night turning to dawn. The Magizoologist spotted the source of the disturbance at a strategic – he felt – distance from the edge of his wardings, the ground several feet in front of the black-clad figure frozen in suspended animation, in a perfect tableau of disturbed leaves floating charred in the air. Clearly, Grindelwald had learnt from his earlier underestimation of Newt and either used a spell or thrown something ahead to disrupt the protections rather than coming forward himself. Newt straightened from his undignified clambering out of the case and stood erect to face the other’s resolute gaze that pinned him as much as any spell ever could.

Grindelwald held his stare for moments more before he jerked his head behind him, twisting in a flash of apparation and reappearing as a barely recognisable dot further down into the trees, occupying a hollow which, even from here, Newt could see held glowing amber lights and what looked to be another laden table. He snorted in contempt of the attempt at deranged civilisation but resigned himself to acquiescence, nonetheless; the sooner he started, the sooner this was over, and Grindelwald would leave. Newt apparated after setting one final failsafe into action upon his case, not willing to put it any closer to Gellert than he had to and trusting in the few nasty surprises he had set up to deter anyone else. When he appeared in the clearing, he quickly noticed that the conjured trestle table wasn’t laden with food this time, merely two lit, warm oil lanterns and what seemed to be a variety of potted plants. He stared on in bemusement for some time, keen yet suspicious eyes spying out the familiar shapes and scents of Moly, Dittany, Fluxweed, Lavender, and even a greyish mass that looked to be Gillyweed. He turned his incredulous eyes over to the jar beside the plants that contained several well-preserved crocodile’s hearts and then up to meet the mismatched pair of silver and sapphire that were watching his reaction intently.

“I thought they could prove useful to your endeavours. I trust you have the Peppermint to combine with the Lavender and hearts – should be able to have quite the calming effect if used properly and I don’t doubt that the Gillyweed would help you to-”

Newt cut across the almost nervous-seeming babble with a confused frown marring his exhausted features “What’s this all about, Gellert, really?”

He paused, looking irritated at having been interrupted but spoke smoothly, nonetheless, as he speared Newt with a level gaze “An apology…of sorts.”

Newt stared for a long time before his brain kicked itself back into enough cognizance to speak, albeit hoarsely “For what? You’ve never seemed to show even a shred of remorse for anything you’ve done before. What has you feeling so repentant all of a sudden?”

“I realise that I may have acted a tad too harshly the last time we spoke and been careless in my assumptions that you had accepted more than you in fact have.” He paused, seemingly in consideration almost “The removal of the bond makes gauging you-...” his head tilted to the side as he searched for the right word “-problematic.”

“Problematic.” Newt repeated the word in utter incredulity, throwing a hand in the air before sweeping it back through his hair in a furious motion, the flaring pain only serving to sharpen his previously dulled senses further in wake of his anger. “You think that this - any of this or anything you have done or you _could_ do can be simplified to being..._problematic_?!” 

“Perhaps a poor choice of words,” Grindelwald conceded, moving around the table toward Newt even as the younger man circled back round to the other side, keeping the admittedly futile obstacle between them. The dark wizard stopped when he saw that Newt was no keener on having him near than he was on talking to him in the first place and instead set him with an even more intense stare than before, eyes boring into him relentlessly. “I know that you’re confused and that you want to blame all that you felt upon the bond, but I would never have utilised it unless I truly believed that it was rooted in a genuine place of sentiment. You care for me, Newt, whether you wish to admit it to yourself or not.” He stepped closer to his side of the table, ringed, lightly scarred hands resting atop its surface as his gaze became oddly beseeching. “You initiated our contact - on more than one occasion, I might add – and you felt just as I did until the influence of Percival Graves began to challenge that. You claim that I manipulated you but if that is true then it still pales in comparison to the effect that he had upon you before I removed it.”

“What are you talking about?”

His expression was calculated but also pitying, lips turned down at the edges and voice soft, coaxing “Does it honestly seem likely to you that you would become willingly involved with the American Director of Security? An officious, careerist charlatan that allowed himself to be defeated so easily with a simple trick of the pretty face of a young man in a bar. That’s how I captured him, you know, I simply donned the guise of a younger man and flashed him a smile and that was all it took. Does it seem realistic that after what you encountered in New York, that you would simply fall for a few cheap lines of flattery and an attractive face?” he shook his head bemusedly, a half-bitter smile forming upon his lips “You’re better than that, Newton, you always were, but he took advantage of you and hid things from you so that he could garner some sense of affection from a stunning, empathic individual – not caring how he ruined you in the process. Have you not seen the careless, clumsy marks that he left upon you?” He gestured toward where they both knew Graves’ teeth had apparently once sunk in and Newt shuddered, eyes cast down.

Newt swallowed, his heavy head spinning, he wanted very much to doubt every word that came from Grindelwald’s lips – knowing that he was most likely spewing forth his usual enticing lies to deceive Newt into forgiving him. But some of what he was saying rang true…clicking together Graves’ clear desire for repentance in Newt’s eyes with a horrible, sickening sound. Falling in love with a man like Graves seemed so wildly out of character for him…and the emotions and memories not clicking right together in his head…maybe there was actually something in what the dark wizard was saying. He knew enough to take everything Grindelwald said with the largest grain of salt imaginable, but it didn’t still mean that the possibility that Graves, too, had controlled him was wrong. 

“If what you’re saying is true...” Newt began slowly and his suspicions were further confirmed as Grindelwald's eyes alit slightly, gleaming in the orange lamplight. “and Graves is a manipulative, advantageous sadist,” he looked Grindelwald dead on and asked simply “then what does that make you?” He channelled his frustration into a firmness in tone that belied his inner uncertainty even as Grindelwald’s expression fell a little, though firmed around the lips into a harder line than before. “Even if he is all that you are implying, he is at least feeling remorse for it now whereas you most certainly aren’t. You say this is an apology for how you behaved the last time we met but you say nothing of everything else you’ve done. Don’t try to take the moral high ground by trying to pass off your own follies onto someone you stole the identity of from him and memories of from me. Did you really think that even if I believed you wholeheartedly and condemned him, that I would show you preference?”

“I thought, perhaps, that you might see reason and be grateful for the removal of another’s hold upon you. Even Albus could not deny that having Graves’ presence in your life removed may well aid in your wellbeing; being away from him has clearly helped you to realign yourself with what you truly value. You are aiding your creatures far more through your independence than aligning yourself with those Ministry enslaved fools ever could allow. You spent the last year of your association with Graves all but confined to your own house and isolating yourself from what you appreciate in life because of his influences.”

“I may not recall much but I’m rather sure that the reason I stayed in my house was because of a travel ban and because every time I left, I was plagued by a waking nightmare and sleep deprivation that was caused by you and you alone.”

“Oh Liebling, if only I could make you see what you do not understand.” Grindelwald’s tone was patronising and deceptively desperate sounding, but Newt shook his head mutely, refuting without bothering to utter the words they both knew he would say. Grindelwald sank into the chair on his side of the table, ringed hand propped against his forehead as he regarded Newt through the half shade of fingers that brushed his own brow. The Magizoologist recognised the tactics he was employing – the feigning of strained patience as if Newt were the one being naïve and swayed by another – and he grit his teeth in exasperation; not willing to be taken in quite as easily as Grindelwald assumed. Usually, he was far better at disguising his attempts at manipulation; something was clearly making him slip. What it was, Newt couldn’t say but he found himself immeasurably weary and infuriated at it all the same. 

“If I’m quite as ignorant as you seem to think, then why not go about enlightening me by returning my memories so I can decide matters for myself.”

“Even if I agreed with you, Liebling, I don’t believe that I could. The magic was by no means straightforward and I doubt that the power of the Elder Wand – even should I possess it once more – would be able to reverse it.”

“You wouldn’t tell me even if there was, so I doubt there’s any real point in asking, is there?” Newt asked, tone slightly wry even as it was predominantly bitter. 

“Not when I hold only your best interests at heart, no, sweetness, there isn’t.” Gellert smirked very slightly at him and gestured towards the other seat, which Newt took with some hesitancy, perching upon the chair-arm and keeping careful eyes on his surroundings and Grindelwald in equal amounts.

“Judging from the state of you, it seems that you are neglecting your own interests more than ever.” He commented almost lightly though with apparent concern as his astute gaze skated over Newt’s dusty, battered and slumped form in a way that had him shifting uncomfortably as the grey box of stone that was the Nurmengard cell flickered behind his eyes, along with an unsettling hint of what had occurred within it. Newt pressed his lips tight together to prevent the trembling and shoved his hands between his perched legs to do the same; unwilling to allow the dark wizard to witness any more weakness than he was already displaying. Weakness implied a susceptibility to exploitation that Newt was most certainly _not_ allowing to happen this time around, especially now that he was supposedly immune to the more magical forms of influence. Anything he allowed now would be entirely his own responsibility and he was determined to prevent all that he could from occurring.

He eyed Grindelwald accusingly as a previously considered idea floated to the forefront of his mind once more “You wouldn’t happen to be the cause of that landslide earlier, now would you?”

“I only arrived here but minutes ago; not my work, I assure you.” Gellert’s brows rose and he shook his head, expression more bemused than deceiving so much so that Newt felt inclined to believe his nonchalance for once.

“Nor the Hippogriffs? Some other deluded attempt at an apology?” Newt pressed, expression dubious “Because if it was, I would urge you not to think that injuring creatures simply to place them in my care is a wise course of action.” His tone was even and eyes bored hard into the other’s for the first time with unrivalled intensity; righteous fury fuelling the surety at the very idea that his words might be true.

“You think me fool enough to believe that harming such remarkable magical beasts would garner your favour?” Grindelwald’s brow rose impressively as he shook his head in apparent disbelief. “I’m shocked you truly think me so ignorant.”

“Not ignorant,” Newt conceded in a clipped tone, gaze dropping “Just single-mindedly narcissistic.”

Gellert snorted, tilting his head curiously and calling a goblet to his hand from one side of the table, taking a sip before speaking again. “Your discourtesy aside, I trust that whatever injuries these Hippogriff sustained were well taken care of in place of your own?”

“She’s fine,” Newt replied shortly, gaze falling to study the plants still littering the tabletop in preference to watching the other. “Or will be with rest and care.”

“And what of your own health, Newton?” He inclined his goblet towards the plants “They are just as suitable for use on yourself as they are on any of your ailing beasts, I’m certain.”

“And I’m supposed to trust that these ‘apologies’ are actually what they seem?” Newt asked incredulously, though no real weight to any of it, for, as much as he doubted the other’s intentions, he got the feeling that he was at least attempting to be genuine in his delusion of affection.

He was fixed with a scolding look then “I would rather that you didn’t refuse something you could benefit from simply out of principal. They are quite safe. I wouldn’t risk your safety on any petty endeavours to disrupt your freewill. Any decisions you make during our meetings shall be entirely of your own volition, I assure you.”

“Excepting the necessity for you to be ‘visiting’ in the first place?” The admonishing expression was intensified upon him but he ignored it in favour of casting a few choice revealing and scanning spells on the pots and jars’ contents with sharp movements of his wand. He found nothing obviously awry but still eyed the plants as warily as if they were Devil’s Snare.

“Now that I am free once more, I see no reason why I should need to…alter circumstances so that you might feel more inclined to share my sentiment or adhere to my wishes. Any pushes on my part only came as a necessity to ensure that the course of the greater good not be disrupted too radically so as to doom us all.” He smiled indulgently at Newt “I arranged these visits as part of my bargain with Albus so that I might ensure you didn’t cause yourself irreparable harm and because, quite simply put, I enjoy your company.”

“You don’t consider what you’ve already done to be irreparable harm?”

“You’re still here and able to chase about after your dear creatures, are you not?” Bitterness bored through into his tone finally, seeming irritated with Newt’s barely repressed resentment.

“Barely.” Newt replied, standing, feeling his agitation build into the familiar need to dispel it through movement as he paced a little about the clearing, not with any haste but not steadily either, gaze distracted and darting as shapes moved at the edges of his eyes. Gellert was standing before him before he had realised the man had left his seat and jerked back only for his back meet a tree, the elder wizard didn’t move to touch him but stood, close and calculating.

“You’re going to be alright, Liebling.” The words were quiet and oddly utterly sure, so much that Newt didn’t even raise an eyebrow or scoff as he perhaps might’ve had the tone been any less…certain. He seemed to read Newt’s scepticism, however, and tilted his head, lips twisting in an almost warm smile. “I’ve Seen much since I was released and I know that despite what you may think, all that has occurred has been for the best and that you will only come out of this uncertainty as a much brighter, shining pinnacle of what you could be for it.” The smile was wistful and indulgent again “Your Phoenix metaphor was more apt than you perhaps realised.”

“Because you left me to burn?” Newt spoke so softly he almost wasn’t sure that the other man had heard him until the smile turned more familiarly cruel even as it held traces of softness too as a pale finger came up to trace the markings left about his eyes.

“Yes, Newt, exactly because of that. It is far better that you suffer for the love of someone who truly cares for you rather than of the careless need of another.”

The younger man found himself frozen, voice locked inside and body refusing to listen to some distant scream of defiance and it was all the more terrifying because he could no longer blame it upon a blood-pact bond or magic – it was just his own body and mind failing him. He swallowed, twitching slightly in the grip that lightly caressed the side of his face, pushing his matted curls back away from his eyes and seeming to feast upon every minute inch of skin and vulnerability that was exposed by the small movement. The blood that soaked the side of the curls in Gellert’s hand smeared his palms and cracked apart the strands into a flare of new agony, he couldn’t give voice to it but the cry that stuck in his throat seemed to interest the elder further as his head tilted to one side curiously. There was a trace of longing mingling with concern prevalent in the fierce gaze that was pinning him to the spot, the point of contact between them singing with avaricious agony. 

He pulled his voice back to himself as Gellert leaned closer, lips hovering before his own and eyes burning and captivating in equal amounts, one finger trailing down to push lightly at the corner of his lips. “Or maybe you just can’t stand the idea of loving someone who isn’t just as broken as you.”

The grip turned painful as Gellert fisted his hair properly this time and tugged Newt’s head down to the side so that he was more on a level, even below, and he hissed in the younger man’s ear with ease. Lips vibrating inches too close for Newt to ignore the double-edged haze that had descended upon him. “I never claimed otherwise, sweetness.”

The answer stunned him, and Newt pulled back violently, using his position in front of the tree to push off from it with his good leg and shove the shorter man off balance too. They were separated with the movement and Grindelwald’s eyes searched his own even as several paces now separated the two. Newt drew in breaths rapidly, sharply and with no small amount of difficulty.

“I told you once and I’ll keep on telling you until it properly sinks in – _stay away from me_.” Newt spoke harshly and stepped back across the clearing until the table was between them again; it may be a futile gesture, but it got point across, he felt. “And away from my friends too.”

“The friends you abandoned and don’t wish to see even as they continue to hunt you?” 

“I left because I knew that you would only use them against me just as you have before.”

“No longer, I shall not harm them as long as you continue to be reasonable in your behaviour.”

“What you and I consider to be reasonable differs far too much for that to be in any way reassuring.” Newt glared, voice sure but quiet.

“Obstinacy is it then, Newton? Very well, plain terms it is then. Allow our visits, behave amicably and actually take care of yourself and I shall not harm a hair upon your friends’ heads.”

“And what of your followers?” Newt challenged and Gellert’s lip curled a little but nodded still

“Nor shall they do anything to purposefully target them but I cannot promise that the course of their Auror work will not bring any harm upon them. A war is coming, Newt, and until it does, the struggle for supremacy shall be the only priority for those who value our world. If your friends choose to align themselves against the greater good, I cannot promise that they won’t be harmed.” 

“Technicalities,” Newt scoffed acidly “You can’t even make a promise to someone you profess to love without trying to weasel your way out of the fundamental point of the agreement.”

“Verdammt noch mal!” Grindelwald muttered furiously under his breath before raising his gaze to meet Newt’s again “Must you try my patience so?”

“Yes,” Newt answered honestly, eyes hard “Most definitely when you’re trying to find loopholes in another agreement concerning other’s welfare that you should have no say over in the first place.”

“I cannot swear to you something that I cannot guarantee – I will not deceive you in that way.” Gellert conceded with no small degree of irritation “I admit that I’m not particularly surprised that you refuse to continue with civility.” A fond smirk tugged at his lips again “Heavens forbid that you ever make anything simple, Kleiner.”

“For you? Never.” Newt bit back his own smirk, brittle though it was and revelled somewhat in the annoyance he was causing the other – even if it was a largely insignificant recompense in the grander scheme of things. He looked back to the table in consideration, wishing that he could accept the admittedly useful selection of materials without fear of the consequences both in terms of his wellbeing and in Gellert’s expectations of him.

“They’re perfectly safe, sweetness.” Grindelwald spoke reassuringly and Newt raised a sceptical brow at him until Gellert sighed exaggeratedly and walked over to the table, picking a leaf of Dittany, twirling it carefully between pale fingertips for Newt to see before popping it into his mouth, chewing and swallowing with barely a grimace for the undoubtedly unpleasant flavour. The small scrape that the bark of the tree had caused faded quickly upon his skin, leaving only a slight red smear to evidence where it had once been. “See?”

Newt regarded him sceptically, still dubious of any ‘gift’ that he was attempting to bestow, Gellert obviously noticed his continued reluctance and merely fixed him with a patience that unnerved him further. “Use them or don’t. It is, of course, your decision, but I would’ve thought that you would be proficient enough in recognising such things to know that they are genuine. You always have had an eye for the keener details even if you don’t always trust your own instincts as you perhaps should.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Newt spoke flatly, arms crossed and gaze flickering towards the leafy, frosted ground once more 

“Au contraire,” Gellert’s smirk and twinge of a faux Parisian accent that was almost derisive in its pronouncement set Newt’s nerves further on edge and he turned his back in disgust at the thought that the man was probably right, letting his tired gaze scan across the trees and back up the slope to where his case was waiting. He heard another sigh from behind him and Grindelwald’s voice came in soft and coaxing once more. “You really allege to despise me so, Liebling?” 

Newt nodded, throat feeling thick and he didn’t fully turn but angled himself enough so that he could trace the dark wizard’s movements with the edge of his vision.

“If that’s true then why have you not implored your Auror friends to end me? I can’t imagine that they would deny such a request should you ask it of them. Or perhaps Albus? Or even attempted to do so yourself?”

Newt flinched slightly, throat closing up further even as he pushed out words past the horribly familiar sensation of his windpipe slowly being constricted as he writhed underneath another, pinned and helpless. “Death is not such a perfect answer to everything as you might believe.”

“But it would prevent what you profess to fear most, would it not? The inevitable war? The harm of your associates? Our own equally inevitable reunion to the way that we once were entwined?”

“Stop it,” Newt muttered furiously, eyes boring a hole through the dirt that he wished he could follow into, limbs locked to prevent his trembles but not moving to leave either. 

“Think carefully on your answers, Mein Schatz.”

“I don’t need to, Gellert I just don’t wish any more blood on my hands than I have already. Much of which you put there.”

Much like before, pinned and carved open upon the table, he could feel that very same blood dripping upon his skin, trailing down his arms, face and fingers in damp crimson spirals of spite.

His blood.

Theseus’ – even willingly given.

The fanatics who he had been used to kill.

And now the countless more who were likely going to suffer and die because of Grindelwald’s release.

The young Sudanese girl and the Obscurus that had lived within her.

Creatures who he had failed to save in his lifetime. Each one a stark and bitter hole in his memories.

His own father – the weight of that particular death weighing sickening and heavy still within his own stomach like a leaden, writhing mass that was even more grotesque even than the Gillyweed that sat not feet away from him on the table.

“Necessarily.” Grindelwald replied flippantly and Newt’s head snapped around to glare at the elder wizard.

“Death is never a necessity.”

“I don’t believe that you are truly so naïve as to wholly believe that.” 

“Believe whatever you like, Gellert, just don’t attempt to inflict your assumptions and visions on others more than you already have.” He was just twisting about to apparate when Grindelwald caught his shoulder and the wizard was taken along with him in the blur of apparation so swiftly that Newt almost didn’t throw him off but throw him off he did. There was a howl and Grindelwald was suddenly sprawled out several feet from him upon the ground, blood staining through his pristine white shirt sleeves and across his hand as the ends of two fingers were now conspicuously missing. Newt stared on in equal parts horror and a sick hint of numb satisfaction as Grindelwald cradled his mutilated hand – the one that had only seconds before been clamped upon Newt’s shoulder – and worked hard to breathe evenly through gritted teeth.

Newt worked hard to resist his natural instinct to offer assistance; knowing that the other man did not deserve it and that he would be perfectly capable to tending to himself with all of his extraordinary magical strength. He couldn’t help but be horribly captivated by the blood dripping over Gellert’s hands now though…just like Newt saw across his own and probably much more fitting…

Newt tore his gaze away violently and rapidly stepped back towards his case, fully intending to leave the man sat where he was, bleeding and maimed. He wasn’t sure what made him turn on the spot this time, sending a venomous look back at the wizard as he took his case in hand, soon finding himself back in the clearing. He enchanted the contents of the trestle table to float over and into the suitcase, only pausing one of them long enough to take a more generous handful of Dittany than Gellert had before. The Magizoologist returned to the warded area, dismantling them at his own pace as he purposefully ignored Grindelwald making his unsteady way to his feet behind him and the way he leant up against the nearest tree with some degree of exhaustion and agony.

When he was finished with the task of clearing his magic from the air and earth, Newt turned once more to face the other. Grindelwald was eying him with uncharacteristically apparent confusion and near bitterness though also a touch of expectation. The man’s stained, uninjured hand went to his wand, withdrawing it and waving it across himself, chanting the whole time and seeming to relax into the lessening of agony when the flesh scarred and grew, the nails still lost but the digits almost whole again.

Newt scrunched the handful of leaves up in his palm, shredding them with practised nails, popping them into his mouth and pulping them into a tincture, feeling the juices of the Dittany begin to flow before spitting them into his palm and offering them out to Gellert seconds later. He eyed them with obvious perplexity before accepting the offering and spreading the spit-tinged pulp across the wounds with no small amount of hissing and cursing, the skin smoothing further and the scarring lessening until he wounds looked days old. The absence of fingernails aside, Newt’s perhaps misplaced guilt was assuaged so he stooped to pick up his case once more, only pausing momentarily on a whim and palming the jar of Ashwood powder mix from his pocket, tossing it one-handed to Gellert and it was caught in the same way.

“Don’t overdo it.” Newt muttered and apparated without a glance back to see the reaction his actions had wrought. 


	4. Berlin

_“The Ringmaster heads into town for the day and they were just little it staked them in place, they're free now to run and they're free to run home but they lost the ideal of escape…_

_Weighted and drowned you, how they made you numb, no bandage around you, I've found and unwound you, now how to make you run_

_The door is unlatched but you're not afraid, there's a nice patch of straw and a comfortable cage…_

_I've found and unbound you_

_Now where to make you run.”_

_‘The Clock at the back of the cage’ – Amanda Palmer & Edward Ka-Spel_

_Newt smiled down at the man below him, swaying with the movements of both, hips and hands in constant motion, sweet and slick and moving in awkward, pleasing, somehow perfect tandem. His lips pulled back, showing a hint of teeth that glimmered in the low light of his room, orange and dim though it was, that highlighted the ridges and lines of the man he was astride. Large, strong hands holding his hips as both moved, the lower man thrusting over and over and Newt riding along with it. Brushing soft, slightly spiky strands away from a strong brow and rich eyes. He couldn’t stop smiling. Didn’t want to, really as it seemed to make the other man so happy, deep eyes glimmering mischievously and usually stern lines of his face and lips easing in their strain…it felt…warm. That was the only way he could think to describe it…the sensation of honey melting in sunshine…deep into the earth below, warm and indescribable…safe yet thrilling…free…_

Newt jerked awake; sweating, gasping and, embarrassingly, hard. His blankets had slid down past his waist and his dirty shirt and trousers were sticking to him in rapidly-cooling sweat. He pushed them aside and was quick to stand, dispelling some of his tension and energy by pacing from the hut, striding past several enclosures, half-sleep-gritted eyes immune to the changing light sources in each before he reached the washing area that he had built in long ago for prolonged travel. There was a toilet, tub and metal sink that were fed by an artificially sustained spring, maintained by the same magic that supplied several of the other habitats. Newt took advantage of that now, stripping down and diving into a quickly filled tub of cool water with a hiss and gasp. He pulled a washcloth from the lip of the metal bath and rubbed it vigorously over his face, hair and body before drawing his knees up to his shuddering form, smiling weakly in gratification as the cold water did its job of slowly dispelling his incidental arousal. He found that it was better to deal with it this way if he could, rather than trying to bring himself to completion. The few times he had attempted using his own hand recently had brought up less pleasant memories and had only served to make guilt and nausea surge within him. 

Over the past month or more, he had been getting brief flashes in dreams and hallucinations – some feeling real and others completely foreign – confusing distortions of blank and blurred features and faces. No names or coherency to any of it. The face looking like it had been made of soft clay and then smeared and crushed away until he couldn’t assign any sense to the features. He knew who it would make sense for it to be but there was so much to sort through and no chronology or logic to the blurs and flashes. They came so quickly that it didn’t even occur to Newt that the face might belong to Percival Graves until the long minutes after it was gone. The sounds and sensations had come to him with immediate clarity but the actual context was lost to Newt. The guilty possibilities represented by the blankness made his body’s reactions all the more shameful. Newt was unsure whether the memories were purely the stolen traces of Graves or a distorted version of what Gellert had already done to him – blurred by the magic that had stolen Newt’s mind from him. 

As he stood, dripping and shuddering still from the bath, he once again considered the thought – both disturbing and welcome – that he had not seen the primary source of his troubles since the Bavarian mountainside. He could’ve thought that it was merely a result of his constant travel, not staying in the same place for long enough for the wizard to find him, but he would be more the fool to think that anything he did would actually make a difference in this. He had discovered his brother’s trace on him, felt the familiar twang of his magic several weeks ago and lost the Aurors that he had begun to notice trailing him through more heavily populated areas. Grindelwald, however, was another matter – Newt knew that any magic or tails he was likely to employ would be that much more difficult to trace or defeat and so he had simply reverted to his old tactics of moving about as much as he could whilst still completing the tasks he came to do. He had cared for Starktail to the point that her wing was almost strong enough for her to fly and had in fact seen her through a short, if choppy flight on his trek over the Dresden Heath area to where he now resided in a derelict, war-damaged building on the borders of Berlin.

His case currently resided in its usual webbing of protections within the carcass of the building that lay on a mostly empty street, the silence only interrupted by a half-empty inn about a half-mile away. The bright lights of the city glimmered much further away; inviting, perhaps, to most but to Newt all that the shining city promised was bustle and an overwhelming amount of people and distraction. Like New York all over again. He had only ventured this close to the city due to a tip from one of his contacts about the possibility of the remaining firedrakes from the Circus Arcanus – a further four that had apparently been put into a private exhibition somewhere in the city. Newt had managed to track them through the words of several contacts he had in areas across Europe and had discovered that one of the wizard-exclusive ‘gentleman's clubs’ had a creature-collecting owner who was willing to exhibit his ‘possessions’ for a fee. Even had this not been the imprisonment of the very creatures he was seeking; Newt would’ve been outraged at such callous disregard for creatures’ welfare. He had been tenacious in his pursuit of an invitation to that night’s ‘exhibition’.

Ada Shultz – his contact within the city – was a longstanding advocate for the better treatment of ‘half-breed’ creatures such as vampires, part-elves and Werewolves and as such also had a soft spot for creatures in general. Having a half-elf wife had long since cemented her opinions on the matter. Ada had occasionally been willing to lend a hand whenever Newt asked for it after the Magizoologist had once returned the favour by getting Eline and Ada out of the rather cultishly prudish wizarding community that she had been living in along the Franco-German border. The couple had been, admittedly, suspiciously keen to offer him help in the matter – not that they were unpleasant people mind you, far from it – but they had made it rather clear six years ago that they would rather be left in peace and far away from the troubles of other wizards. It was why Newt had been reluctant to actually venture out to the city right away when they sent him his invitation but now that he was up and about after his impromptu nap, he could delay getting ready no longer. 

He was supposed to meet Ada outside of the hidden entrance to the club before entering at around ten o’clock and it was already quarter to nine. Newt dried off quickly, his shivering subsiding only a little upon the application of the rough, worn material of the towel. The issue wasn’t so much the length of time it would take to get to the club but more the precautions he would need to take to pass unrecognised in the city. Though he had ditched the trace on his case two international borders ago, he had still been tailed by rather conspicuous individuals that practically screamed that they were of the Ministry variety.

He had also made several notable enemies in Berlin on his last visit there, in ventures that had resulted in a mass release of Matagot prowling about the city. In Newt’s defence, it hadn’t entirely been his fault that the erstwhile owners of the group of felines had chosen to release them upon the intruders in his home or that Newt – as a completely innocent bystander who had been passing through at the time – had taken to protecting the creatures when Aurors showed up to deal with the perceived threat. It had all been a rather large mess that none of the Ministries had been pleased with but none had pressed charges upon Newt once they had discovered the vast array of incredibly illegal creatures that the wealthy owner had been hoarding within his home and had instead pushed it all under the proverbial rug. With a rather heavy push from Theseus, of course.

That put the Magizoologist in a rather awkward position as now he was not only seeking to fly under the radar of the various Ministries, an obsessive, deluded dark wizard and his own brother but also of the citywide network of associates that the collector – one Adalfarus Fuchs – that he had caused to be arrested nearly a decade before.

Thus, the need for a rather effective disguise. And, as much as he found it somewhat egregious, Ada had a rather ingenious idea that would get him into the private club without anyone any the wiser. It was admittedly something that he had done before and, unlike in most men, the thought of dressing in women’s clothing brought him no sense of embarrassment and it made him feel no less capable. It was simply an idea that most dismissed. It wasn’t even like he had to change his own face much beyond a slight glamour to hide the more masculine aspects of his appearance such as stubble that refused to leave completely without a touch of magic. That glamour wasn’t even entirely his own magic – rather, it was the result of some more natural workings of herbs so was less likely to be noticed. 

He considered himself to be whatever he needed to be for the sake of his creatures most of the time – be that a mother, father, friend, guide or anything else they required, and this sort of disguise wasn’t really any different. The only thing that had changed for him was the thought of exposed flesh attracting the wrong kind of attention from men, attention that might incur a remembrance or reaction in himself that could blow his cover. It was why he made sure to cover his dress with a modest shawl that hid the previously exposed expanses of pale, freckled flesh. The dress was one he had not worn in quite some time and with the slimming of his figure since then, he had to alter the low-backed, high fronted green silk and chiffon so that it clung tighter to him than before. He was pleased to find that the knee-high stockings and modest length of the skirt covered enough of him. His aim was to blend in, after all, so he applied a little kohl to his eyes and a light dusting of crushed red roots to his cheek and lips to make himself appear that much more feminine. He had once had a tube of lipstick that would have sufficed, but he was almost certain that the empty tube was now buried deep within the Niffler’s nest and he hadn’t the time or patience to retrieve the blasted thing. 

His hair was an easier affair than usual as it had grown out in his lack of care and now curled about his face and ears in a way that looked suitably convincing for the style he had seen women wear their short, curling hair in recent years. Newt studied his reflection critically in the scrubbed pane of cracked glass above the sink, deciding that it was convincing enough for him to go mostly unnoticed whilst also not so feminine that he might attract unwanted attention whilst he got to work. It was honestly hard to judge such things but with the low-heeled, plain brown leather boots, long skirt and shawl hiding the dropping back of the dress, he could honestly say that he had done his best on short notice.

Resigning himself to a night of forced social interaction – hopefully only as long as it would take to find the owner of the establishment’s collection and to get out again with the creatures in tow – he clambered out of the case. He stumbled a little over the hem of the dress as he got out, unused to wearing such a thing but only grumbling quietly under his breath before double-checking his case’s protections and the Muggle repelling charms placed over the building. Though he was satisfied that everything was as safe as it could be, Newt still felt a gnawing anxiety at the thought of leaving it at all behind. He knew that bringing the case with him was out of the question but this didn’t stop him from worrying, despite his personal philosophy on the matter. 

Meeting with Ada was surprisingly much easier than he had expected – she smiled when she saw him, fussed about with his hair until it was in better order, fringe curling almost coyly about his ear and a thin, intricately woven band holding it in place, tilted slightly. It felt...simple. She was an old face, a welcome one from before his encounters with dark wizards, before the nightmares came to stay. She laughed and teased him on his shabby yet convincing disguise, clutching his arm in hers loosely and with no startling degree of possessiveness or caution. She wasn't treating him like something precious that was liable to break apart at the wrong touch. Ada treated him like he was just Newt. He hadn’t realised how much he missed people doing that.

“Du siehst wundervoll aus!” She commented, staged loudly with a playful nudge of her elbow into his side when she noticed that he wasn’t really paying much attention to the street that they were walking down or to her. He flinched at the familiarly-spoken compliment before blushing a little and ducking his head and turning to her – more abashed at being caught not listening rather than from her compliment of his appearance.

“Sorry, Ada, had rather a lot on my mind lately.” He offered her a brief, thin smile as her head tilted curiously, dark curls flipping elegantly about her neck as she did so, large hazel eyes regarding him sceptically. “And thank you, never could get the hang of this look…”

She smiled brightly but spoke with a purpose that belied her mischievous nature, “It’s a good thing, I think. It means that you’re not good at pretending to be something you’re not.” She leaned in conspiratorially as they passed a group of men in evening dress and whispered: “Never trust someone who can play at all this without batting an eyelid.” She glared at the men over her shoulder “Bastarde, die meisten von ihnen!”

“We’re supposed to be subtle tonight, or have you forgotten, Ada?” Newt chastised but with a wry smile curving his lips. She shook her head at him, curls bouncing this way and that in the February breeze.

“No, dear, _you _are. I’m here to act as a pleasantly gorgeous and uproar-inducing surprise to the stuck up _Scharlatane_ inside whilst you get to work.”

Newt shook his head in bemusement and hastened to follow her quick, elegant steps as they slipped past the shroud of ivy that made up the hidden entrance on the outside of a husked-out laundry room. The wave of magic washed over both and they found themselves in a large, well-kept garden courtyard that was teeming with witches and wizards in varying states of formal dress. Discouragingly sombre-faced House-elves passed around the stone annexes and rows, avoiding the central area where the magic folk were milling, chatting, laughing and apparently doing things that weren’t usually considered acceptable in public. The manor house rose high into the bled-orange night sky in this space behind the glamour spells and protections, dark stone and lighter marble arches and floors ensconcing the outside sections like a coating of frost. 

As it turned out, Ada had been right on the front of her non-subtlety being a benefit for Newt as any eyes that did turn their way were automatically drawn to the beautiful young women in a set of black velvet dress robes that shimmered and glittered with every movement. It probably helped that they only barely reached her knees at the front, exposing large expanses of pale, smooth skin and strappy ankle heels that curled their way up her thighs. For a woman who actively shunned the romantic intentions of men, Ada certainly knew how to cause a flurry of attention to be directed her way. She didn’t look back at Newt as she strode through and around the square courtyard but her hand lightly gestured toward one of the open doorways to his left and he hid his smile with his hair as a group soon formed around her.

The Magizoologist skirted around the other side of the courtyard and through the indicated door. It was full in here too, but much less so. The music and talk wafting in from every doorway he passed indicated just how many people had been invited to the night’s events. Newt pulled his duck-egg blue shawl a little tighter about his shoulders as he slipped past throngs of people and tried to ignore the flash of familiarity he felt thrum in him as the cool colour triggered that odd warm feeling in him that touched upon his chest in an incorporeally comforting way. The room he was in now was dotted with people and, at first, Newt was unsure where the sources of warmth and light were coming from – the room was largely dimmer and only illuminated on one side by a wall of flickering orange. The truth of the matter became clear, however, as he reached the furthest wall, trying his best to maintain a discrete presence until he was forced to a horrified halt by the sight that met him beyond the wall of enchanted glass at the end of the chamber.

Trapped behind the glass in a casement of enchantments that he could feel practically searing his own skin even from where he stood feet away, was a Chimaera. Dotted in smaller cages surrounding the magnificent hybrid beast were the very creatures he was seeking – the Firedrakes flickered unhappily in their traps, their mouths open in screeching noises that did not carry through the wall of spells. Clearly, whoever had set up this arrangement was not keen on hearing the discomfort of the creatures and was merely content with them providing a fiery spectacle for his guests. And they were very much in discomfort, Newt could see that from the cramped quarters they were being kept in as well as from the barely-healed lash marks along the Chimaera’s sides. The beast was not skinny as many in captivity ended up being but the wounds and the blood matted into the lion’s fur on his head t old Newt that this creature was not only kept around for a spectacle but likely also as a form of defence or perhaps even punishment to anyone who displeased their ‘owner’. The Greek beasts were carnivorous and certainly wouldn’t turn down human flesh should it be offered. Newt imagined that the reason the blood had not been cleaned from the spectacle beast’s fur was that it would simply be too dangerous for any wizard to do so.

He had rated them as ‘extremely dangerous and lethal’ in his book for good reason. 

Newt felt someone step up to stand beside him and tore his horrified gaze away from the appalling sight to focus upon the glass of wine that was being proffered quite insistently in front of his nose. He shook his head, eyes following the suited arm to meet clear green eyes and a shaven, admittedly handsome face of a darkly fair-haired man. He was older, perhaps in his mid-forties, perhaps of a similar age to that of Graves, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Newt was further alarmed to note a deep Texan accent that twanged about his words. “Gorramn brutality, ain’t it.”

“Excuse me?” Newt asked softly; aiming to soften his tone both to disguise his identity and the rage and indignation that was making his hands tremble slightly where they were clutched at his sides. He folded them together in front of himself and saw the other man grimace noticeably and pass the two glasses off to a nearby house-elf when he saw that Newt was going to accept neither.

“No need to hide your distaste for Fuchs’ idea of decoration. Downright disgusting is what it is.” Newt inclined his head faintly in assent but cast his gaze about the room for an excuse to sidle away from the conversation. Anyone who might suspect him to be here with unwelcome purpose would likely try to trip him up by pretending to sympathise with the creatures he was here to help. It was best to make his excuses and get back to finding a way to release the beasts now that he had the Chimaera to consider too – this was not going to be anywhere near as straightforward as he might’ve hoped. 

“I’m afraid I must be going, my friend-” the man stopped him with a grip on his arm and a hushed tone.

“Is still working on distracting the folk in the next room, you’ve got plenty of time darlin’, don’t you worry.”

Newt paled very slightly and looked more closely at the man beside him, trying to discern whether his playful tone was a precursor to ill intent or something else entirely. His expression was guarded but open enough that Newt didn’t quite suspect that he was one of Fuchs’ men about to try to detain him. In fact, he seemed utterly comfortable past the basic level of guardedness that reminded him more of-

“You’re an Auror? Working with MACUSA, I suppose?”

The man looked surprised and a little impressed but hid it quickly “That’s right, though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go blabbing that to the whole room. To this lot, I’d rather just stay the rich American ass who’s here for a good time while in the city on business.” 

“It seems that we’d both prefer to remain inconspicuous tonight, so I’d appreciate it just as much if you let me go about my own business.” 

His grip slid down from Newt’s forearm to encircle his wrist but the grasp was light enough that the panic bubbling below the surface did not yet spill over “I said that I was here to give an impression of having a good time and having a pretty girl on my arm might just help me do that. I can make excuses for you after we’ve walked about a stretch, each minding our own business, until you just so happen to find whatever it is that you are looking to achieve this evening.” 

Newt considered the offer for a few moments, analysing the face value of it and then casting a subtle, wandless _Revelio_ upon the man. Dark blonde brows furrowed very slightly, one rising, but the Auror did not comment other than to regard Newt patiently. Eventually, Newt sighed and removed the other man’s hand from his wrist. “Very well, but believe me when I say that if you should do anything…untoward, then I shall make very sure that you won’t do it again.”

He smiled expansively “Of course not, darlin’, wouldn’t dream of it.”

Newt rolled his eyes and continued toward the door, this time allowing the American to follow along at a more sedate pace. Admittedly, Newt found that he was getting fewer odd looks now that he had a chaperone; he was no happier for it, but the man had made a valid point – if they were both against the imprisonment of creatures, then perhaps they could help one another.

At the very least, the man could probably provide some opportunity for distraction should things go awry. At best, he might be able to provide Newt with backup should things go to utter buggery. And from experience, Newt was fairly sure that the latter was more likely.

“So does my companion for the evening have a name or should we just stick to frosty silence?” The American’s voice broke Newt from his contemplation where he had been observing the sconces and the clearly enchanted windows that littered the connected rooms and annexes they had walked, absently noting that the supposed-Auror beside him had been doing much the same.

Newt blinked briefly at him before responding “Marie…Marie Carrabosse.” It was a name that he had used the last time he had donned this guise – an amalgamation of a half-forgotten tale he’d once heard of faerie lore and a great grandmother on his mother’s side. The man looked sceptical at Newt’s uncertain tone but as the Magizoologist hardened his own gaze and straightened his posture to regard him levelly, the expression softened back into mild amusement.

“Pleasure.”

“And you are?”

“Now that would be telling.” He smirked.

“Well, obviously, why else would I ask?” Newt grumbled, looking away as the man snorted, beginning to ascend a flight of sweeping, crimson-carpeted stairs to the balcony dining area and bar. This area was quieter but around half the tables were still occupied, people talking, eating and smoking, a thick layer of scents almost choking Newt with their sudden intensity. Floating candelabras moved gracefully about the room overhead and a lone crooner in the corner was accompanied by a magical music box that wound in hypnotic spirals like a tall shard of glass, endlessly winding down into the source box.

The wizard beside at Newt’s side led him to a table by the balcony where they would have a decent view of much of the party and the other levels below them; a strategically placed vantage point, Newt noted. He could see Ada still charming the group around her with an ease that astounded him but at the same time wasn’t all that surprising – before she had fled high society, her family had trained her in just this sort of thing in the hopes of attracting a rich pureblood husband. The thought made him snort just a little in laughter and Newt felt rather grateful that his companion had disappeared off to the bar, returning moments later with only one drink which he sat before himself as he settled opposite Newt.

“Noticed the distinct lack of guards and the rather odd way that no one was denied their wands upon entering?” He spoke low as he took a sip of his drink and Newt made a show of not turning to face the other as he replied.

“It’s almost like they’re hoping for a fight to break out with this many high society hot-heads together in one place; putting the officious lot near the people most likely to take issue with the presence of the Ministry.”

The man smirked again. “And you wonder why I’m trying to keep on the down-low.”

“More actually as to what has you so interested in my business here just as long as it doesn’t affect yours.” 

“I’m here because I’m waiting for someone. A few someones, actually, but one of them is a more official priority than the other.” He snorted before commenting “Not that the boss man would admit which is which out-loud.”

Newt stiffened and let his gaze wander a bit back to the other “And if I am to suppose that your boss’ official interest lays in our host, then who would be the secondary concern?” 

“A friend. Or so I’m told.” He sniffed a little, withdrawing a handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiping at his eye with apparent mild irritation. “Sketchy fella. Rather hard to get a hold of. Tends to bolt at the first sign of trouble.” He looked at Newt then, eyes unreadable. “Even if there ain’t any trouble to be found.”

Newt’s jaw tightened but he maintained a calm demeanour as he stood “I’m no expert, but to me, it sounds like this ‘fellow’ would rather just be left to his own devices without any interference – troublesome or otherwise.”

The man caught his wrist again and this time Newt went to wrench it away only to find the grip tightening, the man’s eyes flashing with obvious impatience. “Let go.”

“I’m not going to hurt you or nothin’, I just wanna talk.”

“Well, I don’t,” Newt muttered, averting his gaze and shooting a wandless stinging jinx at the man’s hand, forcing him to hiss and release Newt. It hadn’t been a vicious attack but it had gotten the message across and apparently the man was inclined to heed it. He didn’t rise to follow him but Newt could feel several pairs of eyes on him as he headed towards the door to the restrooms by the bar and locked himself in with a shaky breath. He rested his head upon his hands, leaning heavily upon the sink and breathing in a practised way, feeling the warmth of an indefinable shape touching just over his chest. A warmth that somehow drew the discomfort from him, as it often did.

Newt didn’t know whether this man was truly from MACUSA and had been sent by Graves. He could be any number of unwelcome third parties and honestly, it didn’t much matter as long as the man kept his mouth shut about who Newt really was and why he was there. Pushing him away as he had probably wasn’t the best way to ensure that but Newt had not wanted the contact or the interest that the man was treating him with. Even if the man was who he claimed to be and didn’t mean him harm, Newt did not feel at all inclined to become involved – passionately or otherwise – with anyone else. Not now that anyone who came near him was practically painting a target on both of their backs from almost every side. He reaffirmed that his disguise was still in place in the gilded mirror before unlocking the door and stepping out again with as much dignity and grace as he could muster. Newt went over to the bar, pausing as he saw that the man that he had been sitting with was no longer alone and that a shorter, dark-haired man was facing him across the table. He froze before seeing that the cut of the man’s frame was not that of Graves but of an equally familiar form – Abernathy. Oh bugger. 

Newt ordered a drink, keeping a sly eye on the men who were conversing lowly, calmly enough it seemed but even from here, the Magizoologist could see that the blonde American looked tenser than before, jaw as tight as the smile he was giving Abernathy. Newt took the drink that was offered to him, sipping it as he continued to regard them with the pretence of nonchalantly observing the room, letting his gaze scan briefly over everything in it but repeatedly drift back to the two Americans by the balcony. Was this a coincidence? He doubted it very much and the unnerving thought that the man he had been speaking to was, in fact, a Grindelwald supporter seemed only too likely given his current company. But then again, Newt had never known Gellert to be quite this obvious or heavy-handed. If Abernathy was here to help the American subdue or otherwise coerce him then why would he have been chosen? Grindelwald could have just as easily picked a witch or wizard that Newt did not know to be in his service if he wanted to take a discrete approach, so what was the purpose of his appearance? Was he a distraction? A true coincidence? A double bluff?

Newt decided that the best way to find out just what the men were up to would be to return and gauge the situation from there. He wandered back over to the table, pulling up the empty chair beside the as-yet-anonymous American and placing his drink down in front of him, one hand curled around the stem of the glass. Both men fell silent, Abernathy’s mouth snapping shut almost comically from where he had been about to say something apparently angry. The supposed-Auror offered a more genuine smile and wrapped an arm around Newt’s shoulders, Newt was about to shrug it off when he felt the sharp nudge of the edge of paper push up and under the sleeve of his dress. He stilled and endured the motion, even feigning a fond smile as the blonde spoke.

“As you can see, Mr Abernathy, I’m here on personal matters only. Your friends ain’t gonna need no fear of any involvement from me or mine tonight.”

Abernathy looked affronted and wholly unconvinced “How am I to know that this woman isn’t one of your lot?” He eyed Newt sceptically and the Magizoologist was tempted to laugh at how unobservant the man was being even considering the light glamour of his disguise.

The man beside him opened his mouth to answer but Newt beat him to it with a coy smile and a lift of his drink in Abernathy’s general direction “I tend to stay out of all that business if I can. Personally, I can’t stand bureaucrats. Well, except the charming ones that is.”

Abernathy looked flustered and the blonde man chuckled, tightened his grip with a faux fondness of teasing. “As my lovely Marie said – she’s only here for fun and besides, don’t you think that you would remember her from your time with us? It was only very recently that you…left, if I recall.” His expression hardened a little and his smile turned positively sour “Best be off before my memory of your status of freedom miraculously clears up, eh?”

Abernathy glared but stood anyway. “Very well, but know that any interference in our cause wouldn’t end well for you.” The blonde waved a hand dismissively, nodding and taking a swig of his drink, ignoring the shorter man until he left, disappearing through a backdoor with a palpable air of annoyance at being eschewed so readily. 

“Move your arm,” Newt murmured

“And after you said such sweet things?” The American said with mock affront. Newt responded without looking at the man by sending a tickling charm across the wrapped arm when he wasn’t immediately obeyed, the man stifled another chuckle and did as he was told. “I would ask what has you so edgy but I gotta feeling that it’s the same thing that had him in such a fuss, too.” He commented, angling himself to lean against the balcony behind him so that he could better look at Newt.

“Look, you’ve made whatever point it was you were trying to make to Abernathy so I would appreciate it if you would do me the same courtesy – what do you want?” 

“No need to give me the cold shoulder, Miss Carrabosse,” he replied lightly and Newt sent him a stern look as he casually reached a hand up to rearrange the shawl over his shoulder and carefully slip the folded sheaf of parchment from where it had been tucked into his sleeve. He palmed it and subtly cast a ‘notice-me-not’ charm upon himself and the note, leaving his companion out of the spell just in case this all turned into a more convoluted mess than it already was.

He cast about the paper for any malignant magic but found only a simple yet powerful sealing charm that would hinder anyone who attempted to open it except the intended recipient – a spell that many Ministry officials likely employed. His tainted green eyes scanned across the parchment and recognised the handwriting as belonging to the same man who had sent him dozens of letters in the same neat cursive; letters that were still tucked away safely within his case at that very moment.

_I know you don’t want me interfering in your affairs but I felt that I should warn you that it might be better to leave this one alone. _

_He’s there. _

_And as much as I’d like to be there myself to do something about it, unavoidable circumstances have forced me elsewhere for tonight, so I sent someone to help. I’m not fool enough to believe that you’ll genuinely take this warning to heart when there are creatures in peril, but I simply urge you to be careful. You can trust Harkaway. He’s my second and even though he’s likely acting like the usual cocky bastard he is, he can help you do what you came there to do. _

_Try not to get arrested. Or worse. _

_Take care of yourself, ‘you reckless idiot’. _

_P.E.G (for the record, the last part was on behalf of your brother and your soon-to-be sister in law) _

Newt couldn’t stop a small smile from spreading his painted lips. He didn’t know why he felt the warmth again but he quickly smothered it and folded the note back away, tucking it into his dress before clearing his throat slightly and turning his bright gaze up to meet Harkaway’s curious one. 

“Thank you,” Newt murmured, taking a long draft from his wine to quench his suddenly dry throat.

“I trust that cleared things up some?” He asked and Newt nodded briefly, not looking up from his drink. “I didn’t try to read it as I, strangely enough, ain’t feeling any particular desire to have my fingers burnt off.” He chuckled wryly. “Boss tends to get a bit over the top with anything personal.”

“Who says it’s personal?” Newt muttered offhandedly and then smiled a little at the apparently knowing smirk Harkaway sent his way.

“I was told to get you out of here if it seemed likely that trouble was starting but also that I’d have a damn difficult time doing it, so I was probably better off just helping in any way that I could.” He offered a tilt of his glass in Newt’s direction “The floor, as they say, is yours.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in telling you to leave, is there?” Newt asked, a bit hopelessly.

“Not unless you want several gruesome deaths in New York on your hands, no,” Harkaway grimaced. “Boss has been on-edge for quite a while now, and I don’t fancy being the one that pushes him over.” Newt felt a hollow feeling rising in him at the thought of the trouble he was causing Graves – purposefully or not -- and swallowed more wine to try to fill it and in the wake of anything he could think to say. The other’s gaze softened slightly as he noted Newt’s reaction, “I dunno what happened between you two but whatever it was, it messed him up bad. I ain’t saying that either of you did the other wrong and it really ain’t my business but he’s just trying to look out for you. I’ve never seen him this damn miserable bout anything…or as angry.” 

“It's…more complicated than you can imagine, Mr Harkaway,” Newt spoke in a hoarse whisper, clearing his throat before making eye contact with the American. 

“I’ll bet,” he huffed out. “Look, much as I’m sure you don’t want any help -- and from what I’ve heard and read of your exploits, I doubt you need it -- you gotta admit that it might be easier to do these creatures right if you had me at ya back.” 

“Fine,” Newt relented, not trusting Harkaway – nowhere near it – but conceding that if the man was going to be stalking him for as long as he was here, then he may as well make use of it.

The only issue now was Graves’ warning – according to his note and likely his sources, Grindelwald was here, and Abernathy’s presence just as well confirmed it. It couldn’t be a coincidence and Newt felt fairly certain that this was Gellert’s idea of their next meeting. Perhaps the reason for why it was coming quite as late as it was. For the first time that evening, he regretted his choice of disguise for as well as it might work on others, he doubted that it would fool Gellert for a second. Not to mention the…vulnerability he presented in such dress. Newt suddenly felt very sick, the wine laying heavy upon the insides of his mouth, sticking and stinging like bile mouth and in his stomach as an acrid ache that he couldn’t ignore even as he took deep, steadying breaths.

“Hey, you alright there?” Harkaway's voice sounded rather distant but he nodded, nonetheless, taking the rest of the man's drink in one gulp, grimacing at the flavour of Basilisk Gin – so named because of the bite one felt after drinking it. And also, the paralysing effect it could have in excessive amounts. He shouldn’t really be surprised that the Auror who was second in command to Graves would have an expensive and hardy drinking habit. Newt had found several empty and half-empty bottles of Fire-whiskey in his case and home that had clued him in as to the Director’s preference – that coupled with the smell of the fiery liquid the last time he had seen the man. Harkaway didn’t smell of any alcohol though – expensive or otherwise. He smelt like cigarettes and some sort of musky cologne; perhaps Sandalwood. Whatever it was, it wasn’t really all that notable but in his suddenly nauseous state, Newt found that it was rather choking.

He leant away into his own chair and the man let him, regarding him oddly before his eyes narrowed at something behind Newt that made the Magizoologist turn swiftly in time to catch sight of Adalfarus Fuchs entering the room from the same door Abernathy had left by. He looked different for his time in prison – greyer his previously dark, shoulder-length, sharp features marred on one side by a set of regularly symmetrical burn scars and left hand curled stiffly into his side against his dark dress robes. His grey eyes were zeroed in on the table at which Newt and Harkaway sat and though his pace was casual as he weaved his way around the tables to reach them, there was no doubt as to his destination. Newt had rather been hoping to avoid direct contact with the man but it seemed that that oily rat Abernathy had made their host aware of the two undesirables in his party.

“Guten Abend, Herr Harkaway,” his tone was polite enough and the man in question straightened only slightly from his reclined posture to shake the proffered hand. Newt kept his eyes firmly fixed on his lap as the two completed the motion across from him.

“Mr Fuchs, a pleasure. I must say that I’m having quite a fine time at this little soiree of yours.” 

“I’m sure that is true but it surprises me that you are here as you did not receive an invitation.”

“I’m sure it was lost in the journey somewhere, you know how unreliable owls can be on long-distance international flights, eh?”

Fuchs’ lip curled, “Very well.” He didn’t even blink before Harkaway was suddenly on his back, pinned against the railings that he had been leant so casually against only moments before, shimmering with the force of the spell that Fuchs had used and looking almost as shocked as Newt felt. The Auror’s wand flew from his coat and into Fuchs’ hand. Newt stood abruptly, unsure of whether to get in between the two or to get out of there but his decision was made for him by Fuchs’ next words.

“I wouldn’t interfere if I were you. I’ve been asked to direct you towards the private rooms but I’m quite sure that you can find your way without my assistance so that I can deal with my uninvited guest in peace.” The threat in his even voice was clear and Newt threw a glance between the two men; from Fuchs’ stern indifference to Harkaway’s grimace, lingering on the latter as the American gave him a slight shake of his head.

Newt sighed and made a show of pushing his chair back in, carefully dropping a tiny, stoppered vial into the man’s shoe, which was frozen in mid-air just between the two seats from how he had been trapped. If either man noticed, neither commented, and Newt hastened away from the table, hoping that the charmed bottle would do its work and crack apart as it was meant to; releasing whomever it was in contact with from any magical influences. It was an improvised defence that Newt had made in the months since his fall and thought might come in handy – unfortunately, he had only been able to sneak one onto his person without notice, tucked with a sticking charm against the stocking on his thigh. He could only hope that it would be enough to help Harkaway gain the upper hand through the element of surprise before he was killed – Newt didn’t know him really, but he didn’t want anyone else’s deaths on his hands. Whether by inaction or directly.

The Magizoologist didn’t doubt that the reason he was being directed toward the private rooms now was because Abernathy had informed his master of Newt’s presence, even if he hadn’t perhaps realised the significance of whom he had encountered. Grindelwald wouldn’t be afraid of causing a disturbance in the party of an apparent ally and Newt didn’t want to risk collateral damage should he attempt to flee now; there was too much risk of innocents being caught in the crossfire. Besides, as part of the agreement, he did, in fact, owe Grindelwald his monthly visit and once again, he gritted his teeth and consoled himself that it was best to get it out of the way. Just as he passed the two wizards standing on guard by the backroom door, he heard an exclamation and a loud crash; glancing back over his shoulder as he slipped through the door, he saw that Fuchs had just been thrown across the room and into another table. Harkaway shot him a brief grin, summoning his wand to his own hand from Fuchs’ fallen form in time to meet the spells of various incognito sentries about the room.

Trusting that a seasoned Auror could take care of himself and more concerned about the dim, red lighting of the room he was entering, Newt let the door snap closed behind him with an uneasy feeling churning in his already tense stomach. The sounds of battle from the next room were cut off and Newt was unsettled by the change; whatever happened within these backrooms apparently merited silencing charms. He passed along a corridor with dark wood-panelled walls, rich burgundy carpet underfoot and golden sconces illuminating everything in a bloody red glow from the tinted glass encasing them. He wasn’t sure if the effect was meant to be inviting but all it reminded the Magizoologist of was the inside of the throat of a Ukrainian Ironbelly – deep, slightly undulating and leading to an unpleasant end. He looked to each door as he passed but got the distinct feeling that as he wasn’t being directed elsewhere, the door at the opposite end of the hall was his intended destination.

He entered after drawing in several calming breaths and was rather glad he had as the room he entered was smothering in its warmth and the odours of rich food, spirits and cigarette smoke. Gellert, of course, was the source and the sole occupant of the thematically decorated room – it matched the outer corridor but was helpfully lit a tad more brightly by candles upon the table. Newt was unsure of what Gellert’s fixation upon this familiar setup was, but took the nonverbal cue and sat in the chair opposite Grindelwald which had been left out, the seat scooting forwards slightly when Newt didn’t pull it forward himself. He levelled a scowl at the other wizard who was reclining in his customary relaxed arrogance, cigarette dangling from one ringed hand, lips set in a smirk and eyes fixed solely upon Newt. The familiar scene was made strange by the subtle changes in Gellert’s appearance; his white-blonde hair grown out even further, no longer scraped so harshly and precisely, dangling loosely down to nearly his jaw. His face remained clear of hair and his suit was clean and systematically ruffled as ever, white shirt collar flared unnecessarily over a dark jacket and pinstriped waistcoat fitted tight about his stouter chest. There was a splash more colour than usual in that he sported a silver chain upon his waist and a crimson pocket square but the differences were subtle and Newt supposed that they were intended to cement the menacing vibe that the dark lord wished to exude…although not, perhaps, to him directly. 

The dark wizard ventured no words, but his gaze roamed over Newt’s appearance in such a way that the younger man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, straightening to sit as primly as he could whilst also revelling a little in the pointless protection the shawl presented to that gaze. Though unfortunately, he could feel sweat beading upon his skin, wishing he could remove the covering to get some air to his skin but not relenting as it was likely the whole point of the room’s unnatural heat; to make him feel uncomfortable enough to present more vulnerability. Both in the revealing of flesh but the light scars that lay upon him.

When the silence stretched on long enough that Newt felt sure that Gellert wanted him to speak, he raised his stubborn gaze up to meet the mismatched, amused yet intrigued seeming one.

The dark wizard relented without the small smirk ever leaving his lips. “I must say that I find your little disguise rather ravishing, my dear Newt, it seems that I have failed to fully appreciate the range of your repertoire.” He paused with a curious tilt to his head “Though perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me so what with your mothering tendencies.” 

“I don’t see how it much matters,” Newt mumbled, eyes skating about the room and table, taking in the plates of sautéed vegetables and dishes of soup dotting the space in between them – thankfully not a meat-based dish in sight. It seemed that Gellert had at least partially learnt from one of his past follies. 

“I couldn’t help but notice your company for the evening,” Grindelwald commented with apparent lightness but a very slight tension to his jaw as he spoke that hinted at something sourer. “Really, Newton? Another American Auror? Do you keep such appalling company simply to spite me, or do you harbour a clandestine preference for the sort that you openly claim to despise?”

Newt frowned at the elder wizard. “I was not with Mr Harkaway by any plans of my own, and I certainly have no social intentions toward him – romantic or otherwise.”

“Are you quite sure about that, Liebling? From what Corelias tells me, you seemed cosy enough.”

Newt’s glare intensified “I was simply playing a part. Abernathy isn’t quite as perceptive as you might’ve believed, considering he hasn’t the sense nor subtly to have recognised me.” His painted lips curled slightly when Newt admitted, “You know full well, I don’t doubt, that Harkaway was here on Director Graves’ orders, so please stop with this petty charade of jealousy.”

Gellert’s smile turned wolfish. “I’ll admit that I’m more aware of MACUSA’s goings-on than they suspect, but that doesn’t mean that my concern for your welfare is misplaced - Aurors are notoriously poor choices of companionship.”

“And sadistic, homicidal, budding dictators are so much better?” Newt replied acidly, under his breath but still loud enough in the empty room. 

“Must you be so puerile, Newton?” The elder sighed, adjusting his position in the chair to reach forward and tap residue from his cigarette into a crystal ashtray.

“Only when you’re being deliberately obtuse, Gellert,” Newt replied, gaze level and tone acerbic. Grindelwald held his gaze for seconds more before huffing lightly and then clicking his free hand in the air in one decisive snap that caused the dishes in front of them to float about the table, soup ladling itself into each smaller bowl and servings of the food placing themselves in front of each man. Newt raised an eyebrow. He was hungry, not having eaten since the previous day, but he felt disinclined to eat anything that Gellert had placed in front of him – even if the last offering Grindelwald had made had turned out to be genuine. The plants had been just as helpful as he had hoped they would be in treating his ailing creatures, but this didn’t mean that Newt was going to trust everything the man offered him simply because one present had lacked the obvious marks of foul play.

“Eat, Newt,” Gellert fixed him with an appraising look and spoke as if in chastisement. “As fitting as your current state of dress is to your…delectable figure, I don’t believe that it would benefit from any further slimming down.”

Newt shuddered slightly despite the warmth of the room and would’ve clutched the shawl tighter to himself if he could, instead he reached forward, scanning the soup briefly before dipping his spoon into the deep orange broth. It tasted good – like root vegetables, primarily butternut squash and hints of paprika humming upon his senses but it may as well have been dirt, eating under the gaze of Grindelwald in painfully similar circumstances as to how he had learned of the death and butchery of his father. And eaten what remained. He very nearly choked on his next mouthful and was forced to dab at his lips with a napkin, irritated when rouge smeared off with his movements. Glancing up at Gellert through his lashes, he vigorously swiped the rest of the colour from his lips and continued to eat without looking up again until there was no food left in front of him to be consumed.

With no more distractions, he raised his gaze again and saw that Gellert wasn’t looking at him anymore but rather behind him, and the Magizoologist was prompted for the second time that night to look over his own shoulder. He saw nothing out of place, however and turned back to frown at Gellert before noticing that the man’s gaze was hazed, not focussed on anything that Newt could see but clearly looking at _something. _It was then that Newt noticed that his silver eye was gleaming brighter than usual – practically glowing with an unnatural light that had Newt puzzled before it clicked in his head. Gellert was having a vision. In all the time he had been forced to spend with the wizard, Newt had yet to encounter Grindelwald in the apparently trance-like state that came with having a vision.

He was unsure of how to react. Lost in a moment of horrid indecision. Grindelwald was vulnerable right now; he wasn’t alert and likely wouldn’t be able to reach for his wand to defend himself should Newt act. He could hurt Grindelwald now – kill him, even. This could all be over if he just acted fast enough and went about it the right way. Hesitation here would waste his opportunity but if he acted too rashly, he could just incite the dark wizard’s ire. Cautiously, Newt stood and stepped about the table, waving a hand before the Seer’s empty gaze as though he might bite him. _Again_. Now was not the time for such thoughts, he chastised himself, letting his gaze flicker indecisively between his thigh strap where his wand was currently stowed and the gleaming silver knife on the table before him. It was smeared slightly with butter from where the dark wizard had applied it to bread to accompany his soup. Newt could only seem to focus upon the smear of yellowish fat upon the blade, fascinated by how the red light of the room highlighted both it and his own distorted reflection in the gleaming metal in a hellish glow that matched the warmth around him.

It would be more easily traceable for him to use his wand – one simple spell and all of Newt’s past magical deeds would be exposed. Not that he ever intended to be linked to the murder of Gellert Grindelwald, of course, but even he couldn’t run forever and things like the death of an international fanatical leader with a devoted cult would most likely be noticed rather quickly. Especially at a high society club in Berlin that belonged to one of his allies.

A knife, however…it felt more fitting somehow. Brutal and poetic, even if Gellert had not gutted him with a blade before…merely torn him apart and penetrated him in almost every other way conceivable. Burnt him, beat him, choked him, carved him, carved his father, been inside him in every way that he could. Mind and body. And it wasn’t just the personal atrocities that this man had committed or was planning to; he was planning to subjugate, murder or enslave most of the world in the name of some deluded fascism and sense of superiority. No matter the points he sometimes made that rang with truth, he could not be allowed to continue in his fanatical crusade. But was Newt truly willing to be the one to do it? Could he really discount every vow he had ever made to himself or others about only doing his best to help wherever he could? To not choose sides? To not kill? That death was not always the answer. Hadn’t he said that very same thing to the man before? To the man whom Newt was currently standing over with his finger wrapped loosely about the gleaming silver handle of an implement that could very well end his life…

Grindelwald’s eyes were still vacant, silver and blue glassed over as if he were already dead…would it really be so wrong to keep them that way?

Newt tightened his grip on the knife handle and moved it to rest with the point pressing just over where Gellert’s heart lay, the other hand going to steady it and feeling the _thump, thump, thump_ of the man’s pulse thrumming through his chest. The younger man could see the lines creasing his face even in his insentient state – pain, confusion and consternation…such human emotions without the deceitful mask of cool arrogance. The loose blonde hair tucked very slightly around his jaw and ear and pale lashes fluttering lightly over glassy eyes…he looked too real…too close. The skin was warm – undeniably alive and Newt quickly removed the steadying hand, feeling the blade sink a little into flesh, dotting the white shirt through with blood. Soaking through like a rose blooming in snow. Like an injured beast dripping a trail for a hunter to follow…like Newt was the predator…just as his creatures’ reactions to him had hinted since he fell…was that really what it meant? What he had become? 

He couldn’t do it.

With a jerk, Newt moved to tear his hand away, shaking violently and breath trembling just as much. His movement was aborted as a hand came out blindly to grab at him, fisting into the front of his dress and pulling him forward until his face was inches from Gellert’s snarling face. The fog was slowly dissipating in the mismatched eyes, but he seemed to be in the half-haze of a man only barely woken from slumber and blindly facing an unknown threat – Newt himself had woken in a similar way often enough to recognise it now. Though it made it no less terrifying to be suddenly so close to a furious and not fully coherent Grindelwald with a bloody knife still dripping in one hand whilst the man had a bloody scrape on his chest. Even the most jumbled of men would likely join the dots. Newt’s shawl had slipped from his shoulders in the brutal movement and his dress was currently being used to half-choke him as his own hand came up to tug firmly at Gellert’s.

“Let go, Gellert.”

The dark wizard’s eyes snapped repeatedly between Newt’s face and the knife that was still white-knuckled in Newt’s free hand and the Magizoologist brought it up instinctively; not intending to use it but hoping that the threat would be enough for the other man to release him. He was wrong. If anything, it made the situation worse. Gellert seemed insensible as he moved, quick as a snake, and wrested the blade from Newt’s grip, the Magizoologist releasing it in surprise at the sheer force with which he was slammed back into the table and pinned by the elder wizard. The knife-edge pressed against his jawline, skimming his throat and face as the hand that held the blade shook and wavered along with the sense of the man holding it, scraping a thin bloody line across pale skin. His eyes were still filmed, as if he was in the midst of a vision but an instinct of self-preservation had pulled him at least partially from it – enough to protect himself from the threat that Newt had become. It was only physical strength that Gellert was holding Newt down with; no magic came to aid the powerful wizard despite the most common reaction in threatened insentience for any magic-user would be to lash out magically. This was something else.

Newt made sure to keep his tone as even as possible, soft but firm as he would when soothing an agitated beast – he supposed he was. “Gellert, can you hear me? I’m not going to hurt you unless you force me to. I’m not a threat. Not here. Not now.” He looked into the mismatched eyes carefully, searching for some coherence, for a lessening of the silver glow ensconcing the Seer’s eyes. There was a little flicker and though his gaze remained glassy, the knife stopped wavering, resting more solidly upon Newt’s jawline; a middle ground between the purposes of mutilation above and death below. Newt took it as encouragement and slackened in the grip – fuelling his placating words with actions. “Please put down the knife.”

It took a too many painfully long seconds for him to react but eventually, Grindelwald jerked, as if he had been struck about the face and whilst the movement caused a scrape of the knife against Newt’s skin, it soon lost contact as the wizard slumped back. He fell into his chair in a similar position as before only now it looked less calculated, less cocky and more like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Grindelwald blinked furiously, eyes finally focussing on Newt, taking in the flustered Magizoologist as he slowly sat up from where he had been prone on the table. Grindelwald’s pale brows were furrowed in consternation and apparent irritation before he slumped forward, head propped on his hands as his elbows were in turn supported by his knees. His hands were pressed to his forehead, massaging vigorously across his brow and into his now messier hair as if trying to work out an indeterminable ache. Newt was no expert on Seers, but he could only imagine that visions came with a similar, if not worse, ache to in-depth Legilimency. Mind magic was no easy matter, let alone a power that forced visions upon the bearer with little warning.

Newt could feel some sort of warm liquid seeping through the seat of his dress and sticking itself unpleasantly to his exposed back from where he had been spread over the still laden table. He could feel no pain on his back so assumed that it only soup and not blood from having been skewered by a fork or something similar – he counted himself lucky as unlike the majority of the sufferings that Grindelwald had inflicted upon him, this had been wild and impulsive. The last time he had been quite this reckless had been during one of the assaults in the cell – when he had smashed apart Newt’s mind and skull in equal force whilst trying to seek out his memories…though, for the life of him, he couldn’t quite recall _what_ the man had found.

He didn’t speak but went about brushing himself down quietly and using a wandless scouring charm on his back and clothes to clear up all the mess that he could without seeing it, he moved around the table, taking the knife with him and gently placing it down out of easy reach. Admittedly it was a pointless gesture, but he felt that Gellert’s inadvertently violent reaction was now over, the man seemingly deflated and sedate once more. Newt hovered for a few more moments before heading toward the door, deciding that he should take advantage of the wizard’s distraction to get out of there before he got a hold of himself once more.

He stopped however as he heard a soft, slightly croaky voice call out “I’m sorry.”

It was more of a mumble but in the silent room it was enough to be heard quite clearly, Newt paused with his hand on the doorhandle, eyes pressing shut and trying to tell himself that this was just more manipulation. Gellert knew that he responded differently to shows of weakness; he was just trying to get Newt to stay.

He didn’t turn, “I don’t doubt that you are but it doesn’t really matter.”

“Could it ever?” Again, the voice was soft but gave him further pause. Usually, such a response would have elicited an angry outburst but when Newt tilted his head to look back at the man, he was simply looking up at Newt with bloodshot eyes. Gellert continued, eyes drifting to the floor between them with furrowed brows and a clenched tight jaw, as if he were trying to prevent his emotions leaking through any further. “The only ones that made any sense were the ones with you by my side.”

Newt’s own brows furrowed, confusion seeping into him along with the numbness “What?”

Grindelwald looked up again “What I _See_, Newt. Nothing is set in stone – everything is fluid and I see a myriad of versions of what could happen whenever this damn ability says I should and the only futures that made any sense to me or brought any hope to the wizarding world were the ones where you shone through brighter than any star. Not always directly physically with me but always there - glowing in your presence even when it wasn’t apparent.” 

Newt stared, not knowing what he should or could say to something like that, hand frozen on the ornate handle and mouth slightly open in the multitude of words that hovered on his tongue – loosened by the drinks he had consumed but stuck by the fear.

Gellert sighed, hand rubbing more furiously, scrubbing his hair from his face in an irritated movement but seemingly frustration only at himself. “I apologise for the violence. I have had…experience with individuals attempting to take advantage of my…weakened vision state before and have no desire to die at your hand in such a way.”

“I wasn’t-” Newt didn’t know how to finish that sentence – what wasn’t he going to do? Maim? Kill? Or that he didn’t mean to go through with any of it despite overwhelming reason to?

“I know, Liebling, or at least suspected. You aren’t the sort, despite however much you may wish otherwise.” he smiled almost wistfully “To paraphrase your Legilamens friend ‘you are a giver’. You help. You haven’t got it in you to kill.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s a human alive who could claim that,” Newt replied softly, giving direct contact again with round tainted green eyes. “We’ve all got it in us, Gellert, it's just whether you choose to act on it or not. You don’t always have to choose the bloody path simply because it seems easier.” 

“And do you truly believe that it would have been easier to kill me? Evidently not as I’m still here. You could have done it, but I knew you wouldn’t.”

“You Saw that did you?” Newt muttered – dejected but curious all the same.

“I didn’t need to, really, but I didn’t See any future that results in me dying here and now so I surmised that it wasn’t your true intention.” 

Newt’s brows rose “You’ve seen your own death under other circumstances then?”

Gellert barked out a tired laugh “No need to sound so hopeful, Newton.” The smile turned to a more customary grim line “But yes, without the Hallows in my possession, even I am not immortal, and I am not fool enough to believe otherwise.” 

“I wasn’t hoping.” Newt admitted, at least partially truthful “More wondering what sort of an effect that would have on a man. Knowing your own death would be a difficult thing, I imagine.” He tilted his head a little in consideration “But then again, it could be useful to know that you would survive the things that came before” Kohl-painted eyes flickered to the blood-stained knife on the table and back to Grindelwald. “Must make it easier to be convinced of a cause even if it is only the possibilities presented to you.” 

“In some ways...” Gellert began but then trailed off, eyes scrutinizing Newt’s face as if he were looking for something in particular before shaking his head dejectedly and sighing “It matters not.” His expression turned closer to his usual superior demeanour then, if still appearing drained “Are you leaving or not, Newton? Because if you are, I feel that I have something to share with you before you do so.”

Newt’s eyes narrowed “And what would that be?”

“Follow me?” Gellert invited, gesturing toward the left-hand door and Newt’s suspicion mounted. The elder man sighed, levering himself to his feet and striding to the door, opening it to reveal only another corridor and Newt took a few steps to follow. Grindelwald called back over his shoulder as he strode along the hall “This will not take long and I’m sure that you would find it easier than staging some other daring escape with your beasts in tow.”

Newt sighed in exasperation but followed, nonetheless, reaching the end of the next red-lit hallway and into a room that held a wall of one-sided enchanted glass – proudly displaying the other side of the Chimaera and Firedrakes’ prison. It seemed that the enclosure had another viewing platform for a more discrete vantage point – Newt supposed that a man as affluent as Fuchs would want to have private areas for himself and his more ‘prestige’ guests to spend their time.

There was a leather satchel resting open on a table by the viewing glass and it was to this that Grindelwald strode, turning with the bag held open so that Newt could see the undetectable extension charm that had been placed on the inside of the bag – much like the work placed into his own case. Newt tilted his head to better see it’s depths and saw that the inside was charmed with environmental spells to create a mimicry of the heat of a Greek forest with a little open plane rimming the edges. A lot of work had clearly gone into it and Newt stared up at the wizard holding it in surprise; not that he was shocked of the skill involved in making such a habitat but more that Grindelwald had done it in some sort of continued apology it seemed. 

“Do you honestly think that you can buy my forgiveness or affections if you keep making gestures like this?” Newt asked, not looking up from the insides of the satchel as they were deep, complex and fascinating enough to offer plentiful excuse to not look at Grindelwald. 

“Not at all, but I certainly can’t hurt.” The tone was light, and Newt glared slightly but took the satchel in one hand, not yet taking it from him but clasping, nonetheless.

“What’s the price, then?”

Gellert had the gall to raise an eyebrow inquisitively until Newt’s glare quelled him and he relented “Nothing so horrible as you might imagine, simply that you accompany me as I leave. No doubt this will also help you with your creature smuggling should you be in my company.”

“And that’s all?” Newt pushed, hand curling tighter about the leather strap but still dubious as ever even as his eyes flickered back to the glass case where the captive creatures resided.

“That’s all.”

“How are you planning to convince Fuchs to part with his ‘prize decorations’?” Newt asked with disgust lacing the last words.

“A simple trade.” Grindelwald replied flippantly and Newt’s frown intensified

“Of what?”

“The Auror.”

Newt blanched “What?”

“I had heard that Fuchs not only has a penchant for collecting creatures but for putting Aurors in their place. Americans especially. An interest we share as it happens. He seems to have developed a particular hatred for them since his time in custody and I felt that Harkaway would be suitable compensation so leaked the news of my attendance tonight to my MACUSA contacts. Rather simple really.” He pulled a face that indicated he was somewhat regretful of his next words but in such a way that it only increased Newt’s outrage further. “I had rather hoped that Director Graves would have been the one to accept the invitation, but other circumstances arose that provided a much more fitting fate for Graves that I simply could not pass up.”

Newt wrenched back in horror, dropping the bag and glaring fiercely “Just when I start to believe that there’s actually something that’s not utterly despicable in you, you consistently find ways to prove me wrong.”

“What do you care of the Auror’s fate. He was rude, presumptuous and he was in your way this evening – could have caused you quite the inconvenience by getting you caught up in his mess. Do you honestly believe that he realised off the bat who you were? No, he was looking for someone to act as a distraction should he be caught. He likely only realised that you were, in fact, the one he was sent here to detain _after_ Abernathy had the audacity to make a move on him without my permission.”

“No, he knew before then.” Newt denied and stepped forward, using his height to his advantage for once and held his posture straight even in the dress that perhaps detracted from the attempt at firmness. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what his intentions were. You can’t just sell people. Let alone selling them in some deluded attempt to gain my favour. I’ve told you before that it _won’t_ work.” 

“I’m sure that if he’s quite the capable duellist that his reputation and my own experience suggests then he’ll be just fine anyway so there is no point in troubling yourself on the matter nor refusing a beneficial agreement between the two of us in the process.”

“Or you could perhaps lend your own considerable talents to helping me release both the creatures _and_ Mr Harkaway – surely that would be a better way for you to ensure my safety, because I assure you that I’m not going to willingly leave a man – innocent or not – to be abused or imprisoned by anyone deranged enough to call himself your friend.”

Gellert held his gaze for a long while before relenting back into his usual state of brash humour “I’ll be sure to tell Albus that you think so little of him.” His lip curled though before he continued “But very well, Liebling, I shall assist you in this but I shall prevail upon you for a favour in future, to repay me for the inconvenience of losing Fuchs as an ally.” His white-blonde head tilted, considering “Though I should admit that he has become far less reliable as a contact since his release. Temperamental and volatile at best.”

“Paracelsus forbid that you should associate with the mentally unstable,” Newt muttered under his breath but took the leather satchel from where it had dropped on the floor and then looked back up to Gellert. “Now I need you to release the spells on that glass but whatever you do, don’t let yourself be perceived as a threat by the Firedrakes, they shouldn’t be too much trouble but might cause a mite bit of a burn if you get too close.” He readied his wand, slipping it from his thigh strap and ignoring the very interested gaze that followed the flash of skin the movement exposed. “Oh, and don’t appear weak to the Chimaera either – they’re all but immune to most combative magic and I don’t believe that poor George here has been fed in a few days. If he senses fear on you, he will likely attack” 

Grindelwald looked halfway between alarmed and amused “Never a dull moment is there with you, Newton?”

Newt flipped his hair out of his eyes, turning to face the wall of glass and lowering into a half-crouch to better angle the satchel for when the enchantments were removed. “What have you got to worry about, Gellert? Just as long as none of your visions included you being eaten alive by a Chimaera you should be just fine, shouldn’t you?” His smile was tight and challenging.

Gellert, never being one to back down from a challenge, smirked to match Newt’s, eyes gleaming and wand drawn “I could tell you but where’s the fun it that? We’ll just have to see now, won’t we?”


	5. A bath and a bed

**“** _On candy stripe legs the Spiderman comes, softly through the shadow of the evening sun. Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead, looking for the victim shivering in bed._

_Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and suddenly a movement in the corner of the room and there is nothing I can do when I realize with fright, that the Spiderman is having me for dinner tonight._

_Quietly he laughs and shaking his head, creeps closer now, closer to the foot of the bed and softer than shadow and quicker than flies, his arms are all around me and his tongue in my eyes._

_‘Be still be calm be quiet now my precious boy, don't struggle like that or I will only love you more. For it's much too late to get away or turn on the light, the Spiderman is having you for dinner tonight.’_

_‘Come into my parlour,’ said the spider to the fly ‘I have a little something here.” _

_‘Lullaby’ – The Cure_

Working with Grindelwald’s assistance turned out to be a much more engaging task that Newt would’ve supposed. He was unsure whether it was perhaps some inherent skill that Gellert had to adapt to new situations on a magical, motivating or combative scale or maybe because of how long he had spent perusing Newt’s mind and life that he had absorbed a little of the Magizoologist’s ability and empathy. Whatever the case may be, the Firedrakes proved little challenge to the irresistible – to them – scent of their family that Newt had been careful to bottle and then use as a kind of lure. The effect had been created by bottling a sample of loosened scales from the mating pair he had already saved and then opening it in the other Firedrakes’ presence. It took little effort to coax them into the satchel and had been almost easy – if it weren’t for the presence of the Chimaera that was. Gellert did an admirable job of following Newt’s instruction to handle the beast at first; remaining resolute in his bearing whilst keeping it as unthreatening as he could but when the Greek creature showed the first signs of aggression, Gellert’s mismatched eyes had flickered toward Newt in an atypical show of deference for his superior experience, the Chimaera had attacked.

Cole had, quite predictably, gone for the wizard who had both drawn his wand and reeked of dark magic from the moment that Grindelwald had lowered the barriers and used his strong hooves to batter at the clear threat. The strong, scaled tail swished from side to side, forcing Newt to skip back towards the wall lest he be thrown across the room by the beast’s deceptive strength. He flipped the satchel’s cover over, not fastening it but discouraging the Firedrakes from leaving whilst he stepped in to assist the dark wizard who was holding his wand at ease by his side but the sparks dancing from its tip demonstrating his unease as he cast as best a shield he could. Stronger than most or not, Grindelwald’s magic was still being challenged by the power of the Chimaera as it roared and struck again, this time the shining hoof striking through the defence. There was a crack and a yell as Grindelwald staggered, falling on his back and clutching at his side where the creature had struck, Cole stepped forward, stomping and growling with irritation, hunger clear in deep eyes and teeth bared.

“Don’t move, Gellert.” Newt cautioned, edging around the other side but not breaking his gaze away from the Chimaera’s. “And don’t use any more magic, it’ll just upset him further.” 

“I would rather have some suggestions on what I _should_ do, Newton.” Grindelwald spat out through gritted teeth; tone lighter than it could have been but impatience clearly leaking into the look he shot Newt’s way.

“Try to breathe evenly around your damaged ribs, perhaps?” Newt ventured absently, slipping into a half-crouch as he stepped directly between Cole and the injured wizard. “Otherwise, do keep quiet.”

He felt the answering glare practically blistering the exposed skin of his back but ignored it in favour of offering a flat palm to the lion-head of the creature before him, watching his eyes narrow and hackles raise in response. “I know you’re hungry, but I can promise you a much better meal than him, I’m sure.” Newt murmured, hand hovering in front of bared teeth, the creature sniffed, scenting the myriad of smells that likely lingered on Newt’s skin from his cases’ habitats and residents. “I’ve some fresh chopped venison and a nice home all set up that should suit you just fine with a few tweaks. I can get you back home too if you behave and don’t eat anyone…not even him.” He spoke the words more for himself and a bit for Gellert – the words mattered little, it was the tone and near-contact that was important. The scent and the balance of power between them.

Cole brushed his nose across Newt’s palm and scented it more strongly, tongue coming out to taste the edges of his fingers in an equally ticklish and tension-building movement. Sharp canines grazed the flesh of Newt’s thumb and the Magizoologist made sure neither to flinch nor break eye contact with the beast as he drew a drop of blood. The Chimaera’s tongue came around to taste the droplets, savouring the flavour for several moments before releasing his light grip on Newt’s finger and stepping back, prowling in light clopping sounds until he was no longer facing either man and settled on his haunches with a disgruntled sounding grunt. Newt smiled, couldn’t help but do so in response to the fearsome creature’s apparent liking to him despite his species’ usual affinity to predators solely and distaste for humans.

It was encouraging that the issues he had been experiencing out in the wilds of his travels seemed to have dissipated but also a little worrisome that whatever Cole had tasted in his blood made him so deferential to Newt. Usually, they only did so in the presence of fellow predators or creatures of equally…different magic that was often mistaken for dark. The Magizoologist supposed that it might have something to do with the lingering dark magic that had been tracked into him in so many different ways but thought no more on it. There was nothing he could do to change what had happened and the important thing to do now was ensure that both this Chimaera and the Auror Harkaway made it out of there safely. 

“I trust that you can take care of your injuries.” Newt called over his shoulder, eyes not moving from the lounging form of the Chimaera and heard the scuffle of heavy boots as Gellert presumably stood and heard sharp exhales as he intoned healing spells under his breath. Newt opened the satchel and approached Cole, crouching and gesturing meaningfully for the creature to climb inside, the forested slope that formed the inside easy for the creature to follow should he obey. The Chimaera’s dark eyes regarded him scornfully and Newt sighed, glancing back over his shoulder at Grindelwald and back to the bag again in a resigned way. “Could you lead him through please, Gellert?”

Grindelwald’s pale brows rose incredulously at Newt and the Magizoologist sighed in response and elaborated “He’s not going in there without proof that it's safe and I don’t trust you not to shut me in there with him, so I’d rather appreciate it if you’d do the honours.” He offered a tight smile “He seems to have shown a liking to you after all.”

Grindelwald’s answering grimace was not encouraging “And how do I know that you won’t do the same to me?”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Newt asked, “I could’ve let him eat you if that was my intention.”

“I could have dealt with the beast had you not wanted it alive and intact,” Grindelwald replied waspishly; as if he was affronted at having his abilities questioned and Newt rolled his eyes in distaste. “Besides, you should know better than most that being kept alive does not always mean that the keeper’s intentions are entirely beneficial.”

“Quite.” Newt responded shortly, once again unwilling to dwell on the past and instead stepping toward the satchel himself, crouching beside it and gesturing for Gellert to do the same. “Together then?”

Pale brows rose higher than ever but Gellert complied without a word, stepping one foot into the satchel and fixing a firm grip on Newt’s forearm as he slipped through and down the slope, pulling the Magizoologist with him. Newt plucked himself from the grip once they had disentangled themselves from the flurry of long grass that swept about and turned to beckon Cole once more into the enclosure. The hybrid creature followed, clopping along as if the move was entirely of his own volition; reminding Newt amusingly of the Phoenix’s pride as he led Cole through the grassy slope and into the wooded area. He found himself admiring the magic woven into the habitat, there were small flaws in the textures of the tree barks and the lack of breeze in the humid heat but otherwise, Grindelwald had done an admirable job for one likely unaccustomed to creating creature habitats in magically expanded luggage. It was a rather niche line of work after all. 

“You approve, I take it?” Grindelwald ventured, eying Newt from where he had stood a few feet up the plain and Newt nodded shortly, focussing more upon guiding the Chimaera into the trees and away from both the entrance and the place where the Firedrakes had settled, high in the branches. They were very aware of the threat that the predator posed and whilst Chimaera didn’t usually go for scaled beasts, any that were hungry enough would be tempted to do so. Newt couldn’t be sure how long it had been since Cole last ate but given that he hadn’t devoured anyone yet, the Magizoologist felt fairly confident he could wait until he could retrieve some food from his case. 

He heard the thump of booted steps quicken a mere moment before Gellert was gripping his wrist and turning him about to face him, Newt jerking in surprise but not moving either into or out of the hold. “You know, Newt, a little acknowledgement would not go unappreciated here.” The eyes were earnest even if the tone was bantering as ever.

“For your attempts at bribery, you mean?” Newt asked before huffing out a breath and meeting the gaze head-on “Very well, thank you for your misguided gifts; I’ve found them rather useful. There, is that what you wanted to hear?”

Grindelwald looked confused “What is it that want from me, Newton?”

“To be left in peace and for no others to be harmed in attempts to get my attention.” Newt replied honestly, carefully extricating himself from the hold and turning to head back toward the exit to the case, though slowing his pace enough for Grindelwald to follow, which he did.

“And what if I were to tell you that I couldn’t do that? Not merely due to my own desires or our bargain but because I have seen a future that allows both of us to reach an…amicability of sorts that could be mutually beneficial?”

“I would be highly doubtful of that,” Newt spoke softly, hastening his pace and gritting his teeth as he heard Gellert do the same. “You said yourself that what you see is ever-changing and I doubt that we are ever going to be more ‘amicable’ then we are right now. I tolerate you because I have to.”

“Is it really so easy to be this glib after what we have shared?”

“What was forced on me, you mean?”

“You volunteered for the bond, Liebling. You asked for it and as much as you claim that you believed it would kill you, I’ve seen the truth in your mind – you knew there was a chance that something like this might happen. If you truly detested me as much as you proclaim, then you would have never agreed, even under duress.” Newt heard the bitter smile in the next words, breathed lowly as they were “You’re stubborn like that, aren’t you?” 

“Gellert-” Newt wasn’t sure what he was going to say in response, but it was rudely cut off as the whole world around him abruptly jerked and then began spinning at an alarming rate. At first, Newt thought that it was another bout of panic overwhelming him but quickly realised that the space about him was indeed turning as Gellert was thrown violently into him, the ground and artificial sky flipping over and over as everything continued to roll and shift in dizzying rapidity. There was an awkward, uncomfortable tangle of limbs, trees, grass and muttered curses until Newt managed to regain enough equilibrium to grapple his wand out and point it straight in the air before striking it back into the ground with a jarring finality.

Everything froze.

Quite literally, in fact, the sky and ground and trees remained at a nearly fifty-degree angle from its original setting and Newt spent several rather undignified moments righting himself, tugging his dress to rights and stabilising himself between two trees with his feet pressed firmly to the trunk on one side and white-knuckled grip on the other. He saw Grindelwald similarly sorting himself a foot or so away, rumpled but seemingly unhurt, Newt could feel blood trickling down his left leg from a particularly deep scratch upon his thigh left by a tree branch and hissed slightly as he clambered toward the satchel exit which was now sealed shut. “Now I could be wrong, but I do believe that you neglected to put proper stabilising charms in place on this enclosure.”

“It wouldn’t have been an issue had you not suggested that we both enter here; providing an excellent opportunity for someone else to apparently steal the damn thing.” Grindelwald snapped back, following Newt’s haphazard path, looking rather comically out of place clambering through the trees at such an angle whilst dressed up so finely. Newt was growing quickly irritated by his own outfit as it repeatedly caught on branches and the still showering clumps of dirt and pebbles but ignored the issue as he focussed upon scrambling up the grassy bank.

“I can’t imagine that it would occur to you that Cole or the Firedrakes would need stability just as much as we, but it shouldn’t really surprise me.” Newt muttered, sending another cursory look to where the Chimaera was currently floating frozen in mid-air behind them, looking decidedly furious at the turn of events. He detested having to restrain creatures at all, let alone with magic but desperate times called for desperate measures and he doubted that Cole would appreciate being thrown about any more than they had. It wasn’t as if Newt’s magic would hold him for very long anyway, but hopefully long enough for them to leave. The Firedrakes were agitated, swooping about erratically though thankfully keeping their distance from both the humans and the Chimaera; having enough sense to stay away from the auras of equally agitated dark magic. 

He reached the hatch where they had entered and pressed a free hand against it, the other wedged tightly into the grass below him and pushed in an attempt to get the thing open, groaning under his breath when it didn’t budge. His wand did nothing even as he attempted the unsealing spells he knew and he daren’t attempt any blasting spells whilst inside lest he end up bringing the place down on top of them. Newt glanced over his shoulder to see that Gellert was near and called “Couldn’t take a look at this, could you?”

“Of course,” Gellert murmured, placing one hand to the hatch, deliberately, Newt felt, very close to his own hand, brushing the edge of his thumb and whilst the touch caused an odd spark of warmth to dance across the skin, he was quick as ever to retract from the contact. He pushed back on the glimmers of pale blue walls, starched white sheets and mahogany eyes that accompanied the warmth.

Whilst Grindelwald was murmuring incantations over the hatchway, Newt busied himself by investigating the damage done to his leg, he glanced surreptitiously over to Gellert before slipping his dress up on his left thigh, wincing when a long bloody gouge was revealed. It didn’t seem too deep as the blood was dark and not the brighter red of arterial bleeding – something he had unfortunate amounts of experience with – so he merely cast a few spells over the wound to staunch the blood flow and pulled his stocking back over it. He could deal with it properly later when he wasn’t in a position where exposing more flesh would be seen as some sort of invitation by the man next to him – preferably when he was safe back in his own case.

There was a curse then a click and the hatch swung open, Newt being forced to neatly dodge it as it swung inwards and Grindelwald took the lead by clambering up and out of the satchel. Newt waited until the other man was fully out before following, eyes adjusting to the light of the room, red and dim as before, only this time, they appeared to be in a parlour. There were books lining one wall and comfortable yet formidable-looking sofas lining the walls; the somewhat more domestic scene broken by the blood spattering the floor and the man suspended feet above the ground in the centre of the room. Harkaway looked beaten to all hell and not particularly happy about it either, though his brows were furrowed in bewilderment as he watched Newt follow Grindelwald out of where the satchel had been tossed on the floor nearby. 

“Ah, Grindelwald.” Fuchs’ voice cut across the rather tense silence like ice cracking through a pond and whilst his next words seemed to confound Harkaway, they were understood by both Grindelwald and Newt. Both his extensive time sharing a headspace with the German-speaking wizard and his own endeavours to learn the language allowed him a decent level of understanding. “Ich Danke Ihnen für Ihre liebenswürdigsten Geschenke.“ (I thank you for your most gracious gifts)

“Gifts?” Grindelwald inquired coolly in English, every trace of his vulnerability gone now and the trained mask of cold power back in place without fault, sliding over him like black ice over a pavement. “I believe that I only bestowed you with one offering tonight, Adalfarus.” 

Fuchs’ smile was thin and snide “Not only an Auror but a meddling Magizoologist as well.” His eyes slid to Newt with apparent distaste but also a disturbing amount of interest as the grey took in his state of dress and battered form. “Had I known he was here earlier, I would have belayed my men’s order to send him on to you. Of course, once I realised, I made sure to have my pets checked upon and what else should Pierre see but the two of you attempting to spirit away with my property?” His gaze was hard even as his tone was mild “You may keep the beasts for the cause if you so wish but I would rather you left me both troublemakers as a sign of goodwill in return.” 

Newt palmed his wand at his side, unsure of how Gellert was going to react to the words but getting the feeling that it would result in conflict either way. Grindelwald’s smile was equally brittle and his wand was traced between elegant fingers before him, mismatched eyes playing over it in clear disinterest toward Fuchs’ offer. “I’m afraid that you will be keeping neither. Not only is Scamander not an offering but I am politely requesting the return of Harkaway. The beasts, too, must leave with my young companion as I have promised him such.”

Fuchs leant forward in his seat, bent and grey but steely and furious in his posture, nonetheless “So it’s true that you now bow to the whim of any boy with a pretty face, is it?” he sighed, as if disappointed “I had heard rumours that your imprisonment had softened your mind and resolve but it is clear to me now that you merely obtained a petty, pretty distraction instead. Such a shame that your true course was diverted, and our alliance ruined by such fickle fancies.” 

“You are mistaken to assume that anyone holds any real power over me, Fuchs.” Grindelwald hissed, voice tight but face controlled “Your assistance has long outworn its welcome because of the same instability you accuse me of – you are paranoid and delusional. No one will miss you or your little establishment. I know a half dozen witches or wizards who could replace you in an instant – it is only for respect of your lineage that I have not expelled you from my protections thus far.”

“Don’t test me, Grindelwald. You are on my ground here and I trust you understand the disadvantage that presents to you.” A gleam entered his eyes as he stood, eyes flicking to Grindelwald’s wand-hand “Especially since you no longer hold your…advantage as strongly as you once might have.”

There wasn’t even a pause before Fuchs was abruptly thrown back, pinned to the sofa he had so recently sat upon and both arms twisted violently behind his back with sickening cracks that sent thoroughly unpleasant jolts of memory through Newt. The Magizoologist began edging backward, charming the satchel shut again and dipping to retrieve it as the room was suddenly flooded with dark-robed witches and wizards who seemed to be the previously uncalled security for Fuchs’ establishment. There were somewhere between a dozen and twenty of them who either filed through the doors – likely summoned by the attack on their employer.

“I would say that it was quite below you to listen to such misguided rumours but I daresay that little is nowadays, Fuchs.” Grindelwald spoke calmly, but with clear power lacing his tone and demeanour as he pinned the other man tighter than ever against his seat, eliciting another strangled scream from Fuchs as the pressure increased upon his broken arms underneath him. “You may act, in your final moments of service, as an example to others – to know that I am no weaker than I ever have been. And that any who imply otherwise shall swiftly be _corrected_.”

Grindelwald raised Fuchs into the air, gasping for breath as his chest, throat and form were seemingly crushed under the weight of the dark lord’s magic, writhing like a fish on a hook as much as he could in his trapped position. Fuchs’ men surged forward, attacking Grindelwald as one, though a number went for Newt too, clearly labelling him as an enemy and Newt lost sight of Fuchs’ hanging form as he was forced to engage them. He clipped the first few with stunning spells and used a little air manipulation to encourage the fallen men to trip their comrades. Newt was quick to raise his wand again, slinging the satchel strap over his shoulders and flicking his wand at Harkaway’s floating form, causing the Auror to drop to the ground with a grunt and Newt winced a little at the inelegant landing.

He shrugged it off though when the American manoeuvred himself to his feet, clutching his left arm to him where it appeared malformed and bleeding – almost half severed in a thoroughly brutal manner. It was perhaps a testament to his character and fortitude as an Auror that he was even still conscious, let alone standing and fighting – Newt was starting to understand why Graves must value him enough to send him away to keep an eye on Newt. When he was apparently too busy to come himself. It wasn’t as if Newt had wanted either here, but he couldn’t help but feel a little heartened that if he were to have an Auror practically stalking him, he was at least willing to send his best. Something that was rather quickly evidenced as Harkaway resisted the invading wizard’s attempts to re-bind him by stunning three in quick succession and throwing another to collide with a bookshelf across the room.

Newt turned back to where Fuchs had apparently fallen and had reverted to wandless magic in order to fight back, though looking painfully beaten already as his broken arms hung limp and mangled at his sides. Perhaps ironic given the injuries he had inflicted upon Harkaway. Grindelwald stood before him with a cold smile twisting his lips, barely a second more passing before the man’s chest seemed to collapse in on itself and the wizard literally crumpled into a bloody, broken heap of bone and mangled flesh at Grindelwald’s feet. Newt flinched and took several stumbling, swift steps backwards toward the exit, eyes wide in horror as he saw Harkaway turn on Grindelwald with his wand levelled at the dark wizard. Grindelwald’s cold expression twisted into an amused sneer and he directed his own weapon at the Auror with clear decision in his mismatched eyes.

“You promised you would let him go free too.” Newt spoke up, back to the door and eyes fixed firmly upon Grindelwald.

“That I did, but I said nothing of his fate after he was freed from Fuchs. And I do so detest American Aurors.” The last part almost sounded like a grumble and Newt swallowed, stepping forward, ignoring Harkaway’s incredulous gaze upon him.

“You of all people should know that I am not a fan of semantics,” Newt stated firmly. “It would be of no purpose for you to kill Mr Harkaway now, would it? Your quarrel isn’t with him personally and it's not as if he’d pose you much of a challenge.”

“Little offended that you have so little faith in me here, darlin’ Harkaway muttered acerbically though rolled his wand arm a little, tilting to the side and clear eyes looking decidedly wary of both men; realising that Newt’s persuasion was his best chance of getting out of there alive.

Grindelwald’s irritation seemed to be inflamed by the affectionate address and stepped forward, pressing his wand to Harkaway’s throat, tilting his face up with the point of his wand, the American’s jaw clenching. “Come now, Newt, he’s not going to be missed and you barely know the man. He’s just a lackey of Graves and those American fools.”

Newt stepped forward too, reaching up a slightly shaking hand to grip Grindelwald’s wrist, not pulling but simply resting, a rare voluntary contact of plain flesh to flesh. “Let him live, Gellert.”

The sigh that followed was long-suffering in the extreme as Grindelwald removed his wand from the other man’s throat “You had better remember that, sweetness, as it's not happening again.”

Newt almost rolled his eyes but thought better of it as he went to remove his hand but was caught and quickly turned his gaze back to meet Gellert’s in something that wasn’t quite submission but wasn’t entirely defiance either. “Remember that you owe me for this.” Gellert’s hand twisted about like an Occamy so that he was clasping Newt’s wrist in a tight, possessive grip and constricted it until Newt nodded, mute in his acquiescence. The younger man was astonished a moment later when Grindelwald’s hold was suddenly broken from him as Harkaway slugged the man hard across the jaw, falling to the carpet in a dazed state. Newt could only stare in shock as Harkaway grinned at him, panting but eyes hard and satisfied. “Bastard had it coming, don’t ya think?” 

“What in the name of-” Newt began but was cut off as Harkaway shunted his foot hard into the unconscious man’s stomach, resulting in little more than a groan.

“Powerful uns’ never expect a good old right hook. Think its below em and all that.” Harkaway commented jovially before turning back to face Newt again “Think that should put him down for a little bit, might want to take the opportunity to get the hell outta here, eh?” Harkaway asked cheerfully, eying the door and Grindelwald in equal guardedness.

“You do realise that you can’t take him in on your own?” Newt asked in exasperation, nodding toward where Grindelwald was already stirring slightly.

“Not my intention and not my problem neither. I told you I had two priorities here tonight and as one of em is dead-” he gestured to the horrendous mess that was left of Fuchs with his good arm “-and I figure I should give the other one a fighting chance of staying the heck away from whatever a creepy fuck like him wants with ye. See my reasonin’?”

Newt was left rather speechless but nodded quickly and headed for the door. 

From that moment on, Newt could honestly claim that he lost track of who was where or what they were doing outside of the men who came after him. He dodged through a throng of duelling sorcerers out in the corridor - finding more fighting ensuing as the guests turned upon one another. Some were taken by surprise by companions and others simply ran for the exits, but most seemed to establish sides, women in spangled evening wear and men in dress robes and suits combatting one another from behind the protection of tables, chairs and walls. Newt flung himself behind the bar from earlier, feeling glad as he saw the House-Elf who had been serving apparate in a crack of Elvish magic that defied the wards set upon the place. He could only hope that all of the House Elves had been swift and self-preserving enough to do so and that they would not be caught in whatever crossfire Newt had found himself in. It seemed that it was not only a matter of Grindelwald’s supporters versus those loyal to Fuchs, he saw a number of individuals who held the same officious air of Ministerial superiority that Newt had seen a hundred times before. Whatever and however these people had come to be here, the Magizoologist got the feeling that they had all come prepared for a fight and more importantly, that the lack of wand confiscation had allowed it.

Why could these situations never be simple? He shot a flurry of his own stunners at a knot of witches who were barraging his shelter with blasting spells and shielded himself in a crouched sprint over to the stairs, hurling himself over the bannister in a swirl of green silk and chiffon before landing with the aid of a cushioning charm. Newt was forced to twist and turn as he ran, however, in order to shield his back from attacks on all sides, many taking note of him and simply attacking as he had not made his side clear. His priority was getting the creatures in his care to safety and as much as he wanted to help calm the madness that had erupted partly because of his actions and Gellert’s adherence to his requests, he knew that staying would only result in disaster. He had no allies here apart from perhaps Grindelwald and Harkaway but he trusted neither of them any further than he could throw them – escape was his priority.

It was then, however, that Newt spotted a recognizable flash of bouncing dark curls fly past along with an equally familiar string of harsh curses.

Ada.

He spun back to help wrestle the younger woman from the chairs in which she had collided and used a firm grip on her arm to pull the inappropriately grinning girl down the adjacent corridor and to skirt the courtyard toward the exit. Ada half-whined though didn’t actively pull away from his guiding hand. “Ah, Sei Nicht so ein Spielverderber!”

“I’m not being a spoilsport, Ada, I promised Eline that I would bring you back safe and I don’t think she would encourage you engaging in an all-out wizard’s brawl because you thought it was fun.” Newt called out wearily as he distractedly fought his way past another group of duelling wizards by the main entrance. His tainted-green eyes continued to scan the crowds about them for any sight of white-blonde hair or mismatched eyes. He didn’t get the feeling that Grindelwald would let him leave without the damn favour he was asking for but Newt really did not want to get any further involved with the man tonight. Especially not after the appallingly familiar display of violence with Fuchs’ broken limbs. Especially not whilst Newt was with someone who might be hurt if the dark wizard took their companionship in the wrong way…or simply saw her as being an annoyance. Grindelwald was too impulsive to be relied upon to behave in any rational manner. 

“But it's so long since I had a good duel.” Ada muttered irritably, glancing back over their shoulders at the chaos and Newt merely rolled his eyes, heading straight for the cloaked archway and ducked out into the street. The Magizoologist was quick to apparate, not to his case but to an emptier part of the city that he had had chance to visit the last time he was here, the street was cold and quiet, few lights burning but thankfully no one outside who needed to be obliviated. Newt released his hold on Ada’s arm and turned to face the sweaty though still glamorous young woman who still seemed a bit sullen.

“Will you be alright getting back home from here?” He asked shortly, eager to get the satchel and it’s precious cargo back to somewhere safer and familiar.

“Just fine,” She replied, her neat brows furrowing slightly as she looked about before back to Newt “What the hell was all that about?”

Newt grimaced “Fanatics and the Ministry at it again, I should imagine.” He said in luau of explaining his full involvement in the whole affair. Ada fixed him with an odd look and he averted his gaze under the pretence of fixing his torn, askew clothing. 

“You’re sure?” Ada pressed “Looked more complicated than that. The lot I was with seemed rather clued in on the whole ‘Greater Good’ movement than I’ve seen in a while. Fuchs’ men seemed pretty well prepared for it too. More than I’ve ever seen.”

“I couldn’t say,” Newt replied, albeit a little hoarsely before he made to step away again, tightening his grip on the satchel at his waist. “Anyway, I’ve got to be going, got a lot to get sorted before the local authorities turn up to sort out that mess.”

“Sure, sure.” She replied, eying him with that same inscrutable expression marring her pretty features. “Keep good care of yourself, Newt.” She enveloped him a brief hug, wrapping him in black velvet and a wave of floral smelling perfume, he froze against her before gently easing her back. Both turned on their heels and apparated, Newt reappearing on the road just down from his case, eying the derelict, sleet-drenched building for any signs of invasion before approaching and beginning to dismantle the wards. He began shivering after the minute mark, the adrenalin and bizarreness of the evening finally hitting him in full, the cold sleet drenching his sodden, frazzled dress and coppery hair to his painted face. His arms froze where they were held aloft and dropped to clutch at his own sides, crossed and heedless of the mud that ruined his stockings as he sank to his knees with fast, short breaths. 

He looked down at his wrist, bruising already in the dim light, not in shock but more because of the memories that were ingrained into such similar movements and abrasions. _Bootlaces and hands rubbing and pressing as he was overwhelmed in every way he could be_. He drew in heavy breaths through whistling teeth and forced himself to his feet, suddenly longing to be clean, warm and dry, not trusting in the unreliability of his cases' bathing arrangements and talking the uncharacteristic risk of snatching up his case and apparating once more. Newt appeared outside of the inn further down the bog-like road and entered hastily, ignoring the pointed and dumbfounded stares that were aimed his way in his finely-dressed though ruined state. Green silk clinging to his shoulders and low down his back, strapped up with a satchel and suitcase and no further clothing to protect him from the bitter weather outside.

The Magizoologist approached the bar, avoiding eye contact with the barkeeper who asked him in gruff tones whether he was alright and responding equally as flatly that he wanted a room and a bath as soon as was possible. The Muggle seemed doubtful but did not question him further, accepting the Muggle money that Newt managed to wrest from his case with the aid of a click of the settings to ‘Muggle-worthy’. It was lucky that he carried a number of currencies in his case for emergencies in his travels and followed the barkeep upstairs, ignoring the heated stares and suspicious glares that burned into his back from the local-looking patrons. He entered the room after it was unlocked, depositing his case and satchel upon the bed and nodding as the innkeeper opened the adjoining door to show the bathtub and toilet, only half listening as the man explained that the water would take some time to heat to fully fill the tub. It wouldn’t be an issue for him.

The next few minutes were another blur of setting in place protective charms and filling the tub with magically heated water – he hadn’t only wanted the chance for a more comfortable bathing arrangement but the opportunity to reside in somewhere that continued the affectedly alien feel of the night. The whole evening felt surreal and so off-trend for him that he somehow felt that staying in his case would be an affront to the sanctuary it represented for him. At least tonight anyway. He was suddenly overcome with a need for solid walls and a roof over his head that wasn’t magically created, he didn’t want his creatures to smell the difference on him. The weakness. 

Newt kicked off his boots, pulled off the headband and then stripped and slipped off the ruined silk, letting it pool on the carpet below. He was just reaching for the hems of his stockings and the leather straps upon them when he felt breath brush the back of his neck, warm, soft and almost entirely unwelcome. Newt jerked to his feet, away from where he had been settled against the bed and almost stumbling over his discarded clothing as he looked behind himself, seeing nothing at first and consequently working to calm his erratic breathing before he turned back toward the bathroom door and nearly shouted aloud in shock.

Grindelwald was sat perched upon the edge of the bathtub, one hand trailing lightly across the surface of the soapy water and eyes fixed upon the same, not even looking toward where Newt stood frozen. “Don’t stop on my account, Liebling.”

Newt scooped a towel up from where it had been laid by the fire to warm and wrapped it hastily around his trembling form in a perhaps feeble attempt at protection. “What are you doing here? What happened?”

“I spared the Auror if that’s what you’re referring too. The Ministry arrived to placate the ignorant and arrest the courageous and I saw no reason to engage them tonight when I had a much more appealing prospect waiting for me here.” Grindelwald’s mismatched eyes rose to his and he idly flicked some water across the tiles before standing and approaching Newt who backtracked until the dark wizard’s hand snapped up to snatch his wrist, wresting it away from where he clutched the towel to his chest.

Newt’s eyes flickered to where his wand lay upon the bed until Grindelwald called it to his own hand and the Magizoologist felt the beginnings of panic settling in his guts and he resorted to sending sparks of a burning charm to the wrist of the hand holding him. If Grindelwald felt anything he didn’t give voice to it but from this close, Newt could now see the redness and dark bruising tracing his jawline that clued the younger man into how little patience the dark wizard had for fighting back at that moment. Grindelwald’s face was close, lips hovering before Newt’s own, his upper lip twitching in that odd way of his, where it felt like he was trying to repress a smile.

“Calm down, Newton. You know that I’m not going to hurt you or else impede upon your free will tonight in any dastardly way that you might assume.” His tone was acerbic, and he didn’t release his grip on Newt, in fact, he seemed to grow closer, one hip angled and pressed tight to Newt through the towel.

“This isn’t a joke, Gellert. I promise that I’ll fulfil your favour but right now I want you to leave.”

“But don’t you think I’ve been patient enough already, sweetness?” He hissed, inches from Newt as the Magizoologist felt his trembles intensify despite his sudden inability to move – it was no magic on the other’s part, however, simply his own body failing him yet again. Newt was almost paralytic as Gellert’s hand free hand came up to caress the side of his exposed neck and the younger man closed his eyes, trying to ignore the way that the touch sent contrasting trails of fiery sparks and chills traversing his spine. “I needn’t get in the way of your bathing either. Go right ahead.”

Newt shivered again, a whole-body shudder that seemed to shake the last of the paralysis from him and he shoved back at the stout, waist-coated chest, pulling away from the contact and sidestepping around both him and the bed. Inadvertently toward the bathroom door which he eyed with scepticism, wondering if it would really provide any protection between him and the dark wizard or if it were simply a futile effort. His cases’ defences prevented apparation until he dismantled the wards and without his wand, he wasn’t sure that he’d have much luck with it anyway, let alone naked and with Grindelwald between him and his creatures. Besides, if Grindelwald had followed him this far – likely, Newt retrospectively realised, due to the satchel having a trace placed upon it – he didn’t doubt that the wizard could follow him again. 

“What exactly do you want from me?” Newt ventured carefully, tainted-green eyes guarded and tried to ignore the way that Grindelwald’s mismatched pair alit at the question like silver and ice sparkling in the firelight. 

“A show.” He replied simply, sitting back on the bed and facing the full bath through the open door with smug satisfaction. Newt’s jaw dropped and was left entirely speechless for several long moments before he swallowed back enough moisture into his bone-dry throat to venture a response.

“Beg pardon?”

Gellert laughed “Go about your evening as you planned. Just allow my presence to go… considered in your movements.”

Newt shuddered harder than ever, hand witching where it was locked about his only covering “Why?”

“You clearly aren’t ready for what I would prefer to be doing this evening and I can see that you are just shivering from the rain, and perhaps a little anticipation of your own.” His smile was vile as he continued “So for now, I simply ask for you to let me…savour the view.” His smile turned more encouraging – or his twisted proximity of it – and added “And that will be your favour repaid. Simply here and now and I shan’t lay a finger on you as long as you perform admirably.” 

The agreeance was familiar now. Worryingly so. The acquiescence out of fear of worse – that Gellert’s temper and expectations would only rise should he continue to refuse or delay the matter. That by saving himself some humiliation now, Grindelwald might expect more from him in return for saving the life of a stranger. One that had tried his best to protect him. but under the orders of a man who Newt didn’t even remember past the infatuated mess that he had encountered months ago. It was all so complicated and it wasn’t as if he were going to be showing Grindelwald any more than he had already seen and taken as thoroughly as he could.

Newt let the towel drop.

Gellert’s smirk widened and he leant forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped before him, loose blonde strands of hair dangling forward to shadow his face in the firelight. The dancing orange light shining his silver eye a glowing amber and the blue swirl with flame. Newt stepped further into the bathroom, out onto the tile, as if the slight distance in the small rooms would somehow protect him from that hungry gaze and all that those eyes recalled within his sickened, dizzy, dizzy head. That dizziness only worsened as his bit his lips and bent once more to unfasten and slip off his stockings, slowing unwillingly as he heard Gellert’s voice murmur the command across the room. “No need to rush.” 

Newt tried to ignore the eyes on him just as easily as he had earlier but found it that much more difficult with the vulnerability his nakedness forced upon him and the hot shivers that his ravaged mind added to flicker overwhelmingly behind his eyes. He stepped into the bath as quickly as he could, sinking below the cooling water rapidly and only looking up from his own submerged knees when he felt the water heat itself up. He glared slightly at Gellert’s raised hand that was now lightly stroking across his own lower lip, as if to suppress more than a smile this time. Newt gripped the washcloth and rubbed it almost violently across his face, removing the last vestiges of obvious femininity from his countenance and hiding his flaming cheeks from Grindelwald’s scrutiny for precious seconds.

“No need to play coy, Liebling.” Gellert’s voice called him once more from his temporary haven and he drew the cooling cloth away from his eyes to see that Grindelwald was leaning back on the bed. His waistcoat and shirt were unbuttoned, exposing an expanse of pale skin to contrast with the dark clothing and a trail of light hair trailing down toward where his belt was unbuckled too. Trousers in the beginnings of being unfastened, one hand resting casually but meaningfully upon the dark wizard’s hip as he eyed the young Magizoologist. Newt pressed his eyes shut again but re-wetted the cloth and rubbed it over his shoulders and arms, scrubbing a little harder than necessary and feeling as though his entire body were alight, warm beyond the water but shivering still. More aware than ever of the scars that lined his body in distinctive white spirals of where silver once lay and the darker marks of the Deathly Hallows burned into his collarbone and chest. The lesser injuries had cleared away slowly, leaving no trace, either due to magic on another’s part or simply the passage of time but those that were woven with stronger, darker magic remained.

With the exception of the bite mark.

Now, with the knowledge that it had not been cursed into his skin permanently by Grindelwald, Newt felt a little better about it – even if he didn’t remember its inception, there was a part of him that somehow clung to the thought that it had been made with love. Not deluded obsession but with his consent as a stand against the wizard whose eyes were currently scorching every inch of him. Associating Graves with thoughts of resistance to Gellert felt…_right_ in an indefinable way and it felt good to have that surety come from something that he could imagine was real. In fact, as he closed his eyes again, Newt found himself able to relax a little more into the hot water as he had earlier intended to before his unwanted voyeur had arrived, imagining the knots and aches being worked from his muscles by worn, careful, familiar hands that had him sighing out a shivering breath. There was a flash of colour behind his eyelids, of dark hair, deep eyes and hastily discarded clothing, splashing and laughter before a warm weight descended upon him. His eyes flew open only to find Gellert still sprawled upon the bed and the ghost of warm touches above and under the water lingering for long moments before they dissipated into a tingling warmth that left him confused. More memories resurfacing or a trick from Grindelwald to lull him into submission? He somehow found himself leaning toward the former idea as he still felt chills of loathing shoot across him as he glanced back to the wizard and only felt the heat resurface when he focussed on the recollections of Graves once more. Feeling tendrils of familiarity connect the thoughts, sensations and his impression of the man from more recently than he could recall.

“Liebling?” Grindelwald’s voice once again called him back into the present, the present where he was naked, wet and being watched by a man he hated…or something close to hate, at least. He had leant forward in Newt’s distraction, shirt falling open further but a curious look in his eyes now; almost concern. Newt shook his head a little and sunk further into the water, submerging his head for a moment to clear it, taking in the blankness of the water with wide-open eyes before resurfacing and continuing the suddenly arduous process of washing his body whilst hiding as much of it as he could with the edge of the bathtub. He was a touch alarmed a moment later when he rose his gaze to see the exposed midriff of the man standing by the bath, staring down at him with impossible scrutiny before he crouched upon the tile to face Newt on a nearer level. One hand dipping into the water, not touching Newt but still causing the Magizoologist to curl away from the dancing fingers that swirled upon the surface as they had before. “Do you have anything you want to tell me?”

“W-what?” Newt asked, averting his gaze to his knees as the fingers danced closer to his drawn-up leg.

“I know that you’ve been experiencing some…resurgences.” Gellert commented insouciantly though his eyes remained dark and fixed on the exposed tip of Newt’s knee above the water.

“Some. Not much that makes sense.” Newt admitted, not knowing how Grindelwald knew but seeing no point in denying something that he was stating so plainly.

“Is it bothering you, Newt?” He asked softly, gaze firm upon Newt’s face now.

The young Magizoologist was quick to shake his head but Grindelwald seemed unconvinced as he clicked his tongue slightly and brought one finger to gently trace spirals on the skin of Newt’s knee. It sent shivers and tingles through him and he swallowed before venturing a reply. “I would rather know what I lost before I decided whether it was worth having taken from me.”

“Even if it seems woefully one-sided? Graves could not even venture the courage or care to come himself tonight to come to your aid and sends a lackey in his place who was treating you as a side-quest in wake of his more Aurorly priorities. Why bother dredging up memories of a man who would not come to your protection himself?” Grindelwald’s finger traced higher, moving across his thigh and further into the water as Newt remained painfully still, frozen again in humiliating ease by his own weakness. “Who is to say that he hasn’t simply moved on as you have and should?”

“None of the memories I’ve recalled of him that are…_a-actually him_, have made me feel…bad. Confused, yes, but not scared. Not disgusted with myself. I can’t say the same for my memories of you and that in itself tells me more than the whole story ever could.” He looked up to face Grindelwald with calm, empty confidence that belied his vulnerable state as his legs uncurled away from the touch and deeper into the water. “Any time I think of you…of what you did….my skin _crawls_.” 

There was a white cold fury in Grindelwald’s face then, tightening his jaw, widening his mismatched eyes and draining the last vestiges of colour from his already chalky pallor. Newt pushed himself up and stepped out of the other side of the bath, retrieving the towel from where it had dropped and wrapping it around his waist, sidestepping around the tub to try to duck past Grindelwald to fetch his case and clothes. He may not have his wand or really stand that much more of a chance against Grindelwald even if he did, but if he managed to get out of the room with his luggage in hand, he could apparate away successfully.

He was caught quickly though, embarrassingly so, as Gellert grabbed his wrist and shoved the Magizoologist forward until he was sprawled on the bed, panic rose in him, hot, suffocating but this time, thankfully not cripplingly as he turned onto his back to face his aggressor. Newt was surprised, however, when Grindelwald did not descend upon him as he had expected and instead looked down at him in barely restrained fury. Newt levered himself up onto his elbows and faced him in a more upright position, settled on the edge of the bed with his thin chest heaving in shuddering breaths and wet hair dripping cold down his back, face and shoulders.

“I don’t mean to provoke you. I’m just speaking the truth, Gellert. Would you rather I lied?” He tilted his head to the side in a rare show of genuine curiosity and feeling something close to pity. “I don’t think you want that.”

Grindelwald looked wrong-footed and paused in a way he hadn’t before, the words not instantly running off his tongue in that advantageous way of his. “I…would rather you be honest about what you felt before. I know what I saw in you and it vexes me why you keep it hidden and silent when you are quite so vocal on other matters.”

“The bond complicated things…distorted them and you know it.” Newt’s voice faded to a hoarse whisper as his gaze lowered to rest upon Grindelwald’s clenched hands at his side. “You were feeling your own desire and…and I think Albus’ too. Mixed together and potent enough to catch my own into it more strongly. I…I may have felt something, but it wasn’t real…not really.” He flickered tainted-green to meet silver-blue in earnest “I think that you have left matters with Albus unresolved and are letting that cloud your judgement when you started to feel something else. What you think you feel for me may be real, but I don’t think this level of…obsession is just meant for me. I may have loved someone else but you stealing those memories from me hasn’t taken away the feeling…just…set me adrift.”

Newt took one of Gellert’s hand in his hand, sliding the sleeve up to reveal the inked birds on his forearm and tapping a light finger upon the conjoined figures. The Crow and the Phoenix bound in one form but with diverging heads. “Focussing upon me makes it easier for you to ignore where I think the fixation and pain truly lies. You barely speak to one another past necessity and adversity despite being bonded in so many ways. I think that in order to have any chance of moving on, you need to face your feelings for him and sort out…what you did.”

He pressed his grip a touch tighter before letting go entirely and standing to face the other wizard. His eyes were hard and glassy, comprehending but crystalizing into the elements they so resembled. “You both hurt one another but you have to understand that you can't own someone completely and use love as an excuse to ruin them. You pulled Albus away from his family and made it nearly impossible for him to move on from any of it. You killed my father and hurt my friends. You stole my memories when you realised that I didn’t feel the same way that I did for him to you. I may not know much about Percival Graves but neither am I interested in pursuing a…relationship with either of you…not now and no matter how many deals or favours you make and coerce from me or Albus...it’s not going to make any of it better.” 

Grindelwald opened his mouth; clearly wanting to refute the words but the huff of wet laughing breath that escaped Newt’s lips halted him in his tracks and the younger man didn’t bother to try to hide the wetness in his eyes even long after his body seemed to have finally shuddered himself out. “You can contradict me all you like but I think we both know that I’m right. We’ve seen the same in each other and in Albus. I think it might be best if you right your head before you continue any further…on any of your paths.”

“Newt…” Grindelwald whispered it, eyes deep and unfathomable yet ventured no further, not moving as Newt cautiously turned to click open the latches of his case, ducking down to retrieve his clothes whilst keeping a weary, wary half-eye on the elder wizard. Heedless of the room’s other occupant by this point, he let the towel drop, pulling on underwear and rough brown trousers with numb-feeling fingers. He felt drained, like his body and mind had been sucked of all he had by the truth that had been channelled through him – not knowing where the sudden clarity had come from but feeling that odd, cool certainty that had accompanied the bond’s presence within him once upon a time. 

Newt jerked when he felt a sudden hand turning his face toward another, freezing as Gellert’s lips pressed softly but firmly to his own, both palms bracketing his cheeks and Newt closed his eyes, releasing a sigh into the lightening, metallic taste of the other man. It was different from before and somehow less alarming than it should have been, it wasn’t impatient but desperate; as if it was needed but only that – no more. Giving not taking. For once. That sickly familiar Juniper scent enveloped him to mix with the clinical scent of soap that rested upon Newt’s own bare, damp skin.

Just as Newt was about to withdraw from the kiss himself, Gellert eased back, still cupping Newt’s face but with hard, decisive eyes that had Newt momentarily concerned again that the man’s control was slipping and that he intended to go further – bargain be damned. But he didn’t. Instead, he pressed one of his cupping hands to Newt’s forehead and there was a blinding silver flash, The place where his hand resided flared a burning hot and Newt’s brain felt as though it had been struck by the same lightning that resided within the man’s kiss. There was a stifled yell and Gellert’s hand dropped away from him, Newt not fully registering it at first as he fell back himself, gasping and clutching his throbbing head with one shaking hand. He eventually managed to reassemble his shattered sight and mind enough so that he could look down to where Gellert was slumped upon the floor against the wall, too seeming in pain as he clutched his wrist, hand smoking and face screwed up in apparent agony.

“W-what…what was that?” Newt gasped out “What were you trying to do?”

“Don’t know if it worked but I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough on your own all the same.” A bemused grin flickered across his gaze despite his glazed eyes. “Haven’t had that much trouble with a spell in quite some time.” He looked up to Newt with a saddened smile that puzzled the Magizoologist further as he struggled to maintain focus. “The bargain I made with Albus was thorough enough, but this is a bit of a grey area I’m willing to bet I can exploit.”

“I thought you couldn’t do any magic on me anymore.” Newt murmured, still half-dazed.

“This wasn’t really casting magic on you – more removing something wasn’t supposed to be there anyway.” 

“But what did you do?” Newt pressed, feeling as though his brain was being shredded by a particularly fierce blizzard, whipping snowflakes of memory and consciousness through him too fast to be recognised or caught and hurting all the while. Grindelwald merely shook his head and shakily pushed himself to his feet, cradling a blistering, burnt-looking hand to his chest and grinning in an odd, almost self-denigrating manner.

“Rest, Liebling.” He spoke softly, pulling his shirt back to cover himself in an uncharacteristically uncareful motion as he stepped toward the door, opening it with wandless magic before looking back with that odd expression still glazing his mismatched eyes. “I won’t trouble you for some time unless you should wish otherwise. You have…given me much to consider and I’d wager that you would benefit from some time to recover…you’ll be alright.”

He left, allowing the door to click shut behind him and Newt stared after him in shock for several minutes before shaking himself into a semblance of sentience once more. He glanced down as a column of wood rolled over his hand when he shifted on the bed, seeing that his wand had been left there, pristine and whole for him. He grasped it tightly in an attempt to reassure himself for moments more before he moved to finish dressing, slipping his shirt and waistcoat back on with comforting, worn warmth. Newt curled onto his side on top of the bedspread, feeling heavy and hurting but not moving in order to calm his ravaged mind but softly breathing in and out to expel the mist building within him before falling into a restless slumber. The blizzard began to slow to a flurry that, whilst it still left him shivering in the cold flakes of his mind, also made him feel almost safe in a cocoon that enveloped him, clinging and cool but…easy. Like the acceptance of being trapped and dying with only the peaceful certainty of an end for comfort. The hopes of a dying light in those moments before the end.

Before the night truly ends. 


	6. Reach me, Teach me

_“I need you to reach me, teach me how to love, I need you to reach me, teach me how to learn._

_Because I must have got it wrong, if I had love then it's gone, I've been living without it for oh so long and that's the way it goes I suppose._

_We've made enough mistakes between the two of us to sink this thing but we're still clinging on for life._

_…And that's the way it goes, when your head can't but suppose and instead of answers, it's full of I don't know's and that's the way it goes, I suppose.” _

_‘Clinging on for life’ – The Hoosiers_

He could see where they were joined. Where flesh penetrated flesh and heat seared the contact together until it was all either of them could feel anymore. One in ecstasy. One in shame. It was an amalgamation of putridity and submission that somehow still rang – practically _sung_ with conflict and arousal and a dousing of other primal needs that were that much harder to define. Even for someone as intellectually remarkable as Albus Dumbledore. He could say that of himself without fear of being accused of egotistical delusions; there was no way that any honest individual who met him could deny the fact that he well applied his keen mind and senses to furthering that natural prowess. The professor had been accused of being overqualified for his role so many times and by so many people that it had become tiresome to even the admittedly larger ego he held as a younger man and rather humorous now that he had gained some perspective in the years since. His work was his solace just as much as it was for many a man – especially those who were plagued by darkness and dilemmas more pressing and insidious than most, though lately, it had become more of a cause for concern. Dumbledore found a singular satisfaction in teaching youths to defend themselves from the very things he had once sought out to cement his own basis for power, alongside one of the very threats he now sought to train them to defeat. Grindelwald.

No matter what track of thought he tried to go down, it always inevitably led back to the same destination – the root of his problems and even fleetingly, the solution to some of them. It would have been dreadfully naïve of him to assume that Gellert would ever make any of this easier on him simply for the reminiscence of a relationship that was long passed but it didn’t mean that he had expected him to be quite so brutal and crude in his deeds. Such as the apparent need he felt to continue to transmit his own disturbing experiences and memories across the bond that may not dwell within Newt anymore but still existed in a twisted form and parody of what it had once been. It was as different as Albus had assured the younger man, having taken on a touch of the Magizoologist’s presence in a way which wasn’t quite definable but was as tangible as the odd, misguided affection that saturated Gellert’s perception of him.

Despite his best efforts, Albus was being plagued at night just as heavily as Newt had once been by the images that Gellert wished him to see; to rub in the fact that he had most certainly claimed what he intended but also as continued punishment for Albus' perceived crimes. He knew that Gellert believed him to be the one in the wrong – in more ways than simply because he chose not to aid the fanatical crusade that the dark wizard had usurped and corrupted – but because he refused to forgive what Grindelwald had done to his family. The guilt of the incident weighed heavily upon his conscience with every day that passed and whilst he accepted that there truly was no way of knowing who’s spell it had been that ended Ariana’s life, he knew that it had been Gellert who had caused the fight to happen in the first place. 

The guilt had not eased with the years but it had become something that he had learnt to carry with the fortitude of one who had seen his folly and the horror of what that darkness could lead to and used it to better himself. Or so had thought. Until shortly before the sordid business in New York and all that had followed only exacerbated everything, he had truly believed that he had been making headway and successfully combatting Gellert’s crusade alongside his own darker desires. It had been when Gellert’s captive thoughts and dreams turned to the man responsible for his capture that Albus had first properly suspected the danger that lay ahead for Newt. But even with that slight forethought, he had never expected things to devolve quite so quickly and horrendously as they had for either man.

He hadn’t expected Gellert’s newfound ability to feel anything close to love or that it would be for someone who wasn’t him. 

As selfish as it might’ve sounded, he harboured a degree of resentment for both men – to Newt for being the one to finally draw some genuine humanity from Grindelwald and more so to Gellert for choosing to ravish his attentions upon someone who not only did not appreciate them but utterly abhorred them and himself for even considering those feelings. Newt wasn’t immune to Gellert’s charms or persuasions – he doubted that anyone truly would be – but the unforgivably horrible aspect of what Gellert had done, was that he stole the chance for another’s love to help Newt in a spiteful attempt to draw the younger man’s attention back to himself. It was all muddled and knotted now, so much that even should he try, the knots would never come undone and leave the materials unblemished once more.

Unlike Newt, Albus did not see the best in people – he hoped for it, of course he did, but he wasn’t naïve or empathetic enough to do what the Magizoologist did. He could sympathise as well as the next man; a teacher and a guide certainly, but not an unmatchable force of redemption that he had always seen in Newt. Albus had hoped for so long that that power might be what allowed Gellert to see the better path as he once had and abandon his sadistic, ruthless crusade against the organised powers and all of those who did not have pure magical blood. He had admitted as much to both men but it had not been enough or worth the suffering it had caused.

He sat, now, in the neatly kept study of the house he held in the North, one of several safe-houses he had set aside with the money earned from both his teaching work and the rather substantial grants and awards he had received in his academic career. He didn’t squander the money, for the most part, only using it on things to further his research or very occasionally on instruments or clothing that took his fancy. Those little frivolities may seem odd to others who questioned why he didn’t use his moderate wealth to pursue a better social standing within the wizarding communities or the Ministry itself, but he was far more content with his own post. There was certainly a part of him – honed and obtained in youth – that urged him to pursue a more challenging and prestigious career as his talents would allow but the part of him that remembered Ariana’s death and all that it entailed silenced it most every time. He could not trust himself with an excess of power – could not let himself slip back into the folly of his younger years and believe that simply because he was wiser or stronger than some that he should decide the fate of all. He would not become what Gellert had - trading away every ounce of morality and semblance of sanity for more power and indulging in his every hedonistic whim.

It burned like bile within him to see the brilliant man, so full of potential, become so full of hate and so numb to the morals of man but even that paled in comparison to the hurt that witnessing his reawakening brought. To see him begin to show compassion and even a twisted form of restraint or distraction on his part was such a drastic change from what he had devolved into that Albus had at first been sure it was some kind of a trick. That he was simply doing those things to Newt so that he might further torture the fractured remnants of the bond between them. Both magical and passionate. He saw, perhaps, a time when they had almost shared a relationship of equal footing, when Gellert’s obsession and his own had amalgamated into something almost pure. Something that could have lasted had Gellert not become scared of his own weaknesses – of his feelings – and lashed out, causing Albus to make the fated choice; to be forced into making that snap decision that had ended in the worst of ways. He had wanted to leave, to be the glowing saviour of the wizarding world by Gellert’s side – partners in everything, leading the world to a better future. A greater good. His greater good. Their greater good. How had it all gone so wrong?

Ariana’s death had created unhealable rifts between every relationship that Albus had then had – both with his lover and with his distraught brother. Aberforth could and never would forgive him for what happened and had instead committed himself to drinking his troubled self into oblivion. The eldest Dumbledore took just a little solace in having his brother nearby to where he lived and spent the majority of his time – the pub he dwelled in being as close to the school as any and in such a position that he occasionally visited. Albus would always enter the establishment to the mumbled excuse of one of the staff that Aberforth was out or busy and no matter how long Albus drew out his single butterbeer, he would eventually be forced to admit defeat or simply be asked to leave by the edgy barkeep. It didn’t mean that he stopped trying, however. He wasn’t going to force his brother into a confrontation by hunting him down, but it didn’t hurt to leave a proverbial olive branch out by his visits anyway. 

That’s why it had been such a surprise when Aberforth had been the one to take the initiative this time and chosen to visit him…although visit may have been a kind word for it. He had rather slammed upon the front door in an inebriated rage until Albus answered and then promptly shoved past him, demanding to know where his liquor supply was, throwing himself down in the winged armchair in his study and began yelling.

Yes, maybe not quite the right word.

“You had him! You fucking had him and then you let him go again!” He spat, glaring in the vague direction of where Albus sat at his desk in quiet acceptance of the verbal tirade, and of the Firewhiskey being slopped over his floor as Aberforth sought to right himself a little in his own seat. “How long?”

“I believe that it was around ten months in all but-”

Aberforth’s expression went from angry to downright apoplectic “Ten months? Nearly a damn year?! Ya didn’t even think to tell me, or even have the Gobstones to finish him off yerself!” He let out a grim, near-hysterical chuckle but none if it reached his eyes or tone as he spoke. “I would say that this is the worst thing you’ve ever done but we both know that’d be a lie, wouldn’t we?” 

Albus inclined his head marginally but did not speak, unsure of how to handle his brother’s righteous rage but supposing that letting him get it out would likely be the best course of action. The last thing he needed to do now was lose his own temper; he couldn’t bear the thought of being responsible for the harm of another family member. The death of his last remaining sibling. He just couldn’t.

But it seemed that Aberforth wasn’t going to let him get off easily with the non-response “What? Nothing to say? No clever words or excuses this time about how none of this is your fault or how it’s all going to work out for your bloody ‘greater good’? Didn’t you always used to know just what to say to make all your problems go away? To run off and pretend to be a good boy? To think that your bloody job made what you did any better?”

He threw a hand into the air, knocking his shoulder-length auburn hair angrily away from his face as he did so, the knots and soot in it evidencing his deep distress and longer disregard for his own wellbeing almost as much as the reek of spirits on his breath did. “You were a bloody fool if you ever thought you could hold him for long - slimy, malicious bastard always had a hold on you that I’ll never understand. He could trick a beggar out of his last sickle but still you pretend like you had any chance at controlling him!”

Albus took in a breath before speaking as evenly as he could manage “I had Grindelwald well in hand. I released him for the sake of the wellbeing and sanity of others. It does not mean that I have given up on opposing him, Aberforth; you’re more intoxicated than I thought if you truly believe that I would’ve let him go just because of what we once had together.”

“And what was that exactly? Some weird lover’s quarrel or a deluded partnership to rule the damn world? What did you ever think was going to happen?”

“I was foolish, yes, but it does not mean that I haven’t seen the error of my ways in the years since and tried my best to rectify those mistakes.”

“Your best is it? Then why isn’t he dead? You had every damn opportunity to do it, didn’t you?” Aberforth stood now, towering about where Albus sat still and glaring fiercely down at his elder brother. “Come on then! Out with it! Where're your damn excuses now, Albus? You always had an answer for everything when I was trying to warn you about him, that I was the idiot and that I didn’t know what I was talking about and that you two were gonna fix the world together without your family weighing you down. What’ve you got to say now, eh?” 

Albus stood too, facing his brother and with his own guilt and anger simmering strongly just below the surface of his tone. “I made a deal with him – an ill-advised one, perhaps, but the only one he would accept so that I might ensure another’s safety.”

“You never seemed to give much of a damn about anyone else before – not even your own sister, what’s so different about this Scamander lad then?” Albus’ brows furrowed slightly, and he opened his mouth to question but Aberforth snorted and beat him to it. “Oh, don’t assume that just because I’ve been dodging you that I don’t keep tabs on what you’ve been up to – playing about with people’s lives like you always do. I heard all the rumours going on bout that boy and his beasts and I’m willing to bet the Hog’s Head that he’s what you think you’re protecting but from what I’ve heard of what happened to him in Paris and after, you’d’ve been far better off just letting him be.”

“Rumour and speculation give you no right to judge that, you have no idea of the complexity of the situation and even if you did, you are hardly unbiased enough to-”

“To what? To know that you think you know what’s best for everyone even now you think you gave up on all that Muggle-crushing Dragon-dung nonsense? We both know you got your teaching job so that you could still have some damn sense of ‘knowing what’s best’. You thought that taking Ariana away from her home was best because you were so much smarter than I was, that you could cure what those Muggle boys did to her and what happened afterwards! But face it, Albus, you were wrong then and you’re damn well just as clueless now as you ever were!” His expression softened, if just a little “Bugger whatever deal you made with that poncy bastard and either kill him or stand aside so that someone else can do the job.”

“Killing him won’t bring her back.” Albus replied softly, eyes immeasurably sad and he had to force himself not to flinch at the venomous look that flashed across Aberforth’s face. “It could have been any of us that did it. You know that just as well as I do.”

“You think that I’m only telling you to do the right thing because of what happened to our sister? Damn fool, I’m telling you to do it because it’ll stop countless others from dying and being enslaved if you just stop fooling yourself.”

“I recognise the truth, Aberforth, I’m not quite as blind to Grindelwald’s crimes as you seem to think. He will pay for what he has done – I assure you of that, but it has to wait. It will require time and planning to do this properly or else I risk more than just my own life should I fail. The situation is complicated…I cannot say more than that. I’m sorry, but I swore an oath that cannot be undone.”

He pulled back his sleeve and removed the glamour hiding the ropy burnt scars along his right forearm to show his brother exactly what kind of deal that Gellert had intimated. He had been reluctant, of course, but after what the other man showed him of his visions, he had been enticed and indebted to follow the path the other had laid out. There was little leeway or possibility for mistake in what he had shared, and he wasn’t fool enough to ignore the warnings the Seer had shown him. As much as he wished to… 

“You bloody idiot…” Aberforth swore, rubbing a shaking hand over his bristled, greying chin and taking another swig from the bottle, draining the last drops with a grimace before looking back up to glare at his sibling again. “I would ask what possessed you to make such a damn stupid decision, but I think that I already know the answer to that.” 

“For what it's worth, Aberforth, I’m sorry. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret the decisions I made when it comes to handling that man.”

Aberforth let out a snort of breath and shook his head but seemed to be deflating a little in his anger “I don’t know what you’d be if you didn’t. Worse than him I’d reckon…though you still ain’t much better from the conversations I used to hear you two having before you got good at your charms.” 

Albus tilted his head, a brow rising in surprise – his brother had never admitted to having heard anything from either before and whilst the silencing charms he and Gellert had cast in their youth had been more to exclude his mother and sister, he had pondered just how much Aberforth might’ve heard. The thought made his flush a little, even after all these years, he still didn’t relish the thought of his brother having heard anything that went on between himself and Gellert – and not only for the sake the tyrannical, pure-blood spiel. As much as Gellert’s current sexual…preferences alarmed him in the context of a dubiously consented parody of a relationship with Newt, they had once had quite a different effect upon him altogether.

The elder Dumbledore shook himself, ridding his head of the remnants of the past as best he could before gently taking Aberforth’s arm “I know you’re right, Abe, but now is not the time for this. You need to sober up before one of us does something we’ll regret.” His ensured that his tone and expression conveyed the words as a placation and not a threat before gesturing toward the stairs. “You can stay here tonight if you wish and-”

“Stuff it, Al, I’m not staying here.” His brother snapped though a little of the bite was gone from his tone as he headed toward the front door instead, almost deflated even in his bitterness. “Got a business to run and all.”

Albus nodded and undid the charms upon the entrance with a wave of one hand, allowing his brother to step out onto the street and apparate without even looking back. The elder sighed, rubbing a hand over his neck and resetting the wards in place before heading upstairs for some much-needed rest. 

_“Ari?” His brother’s voice called out sharply through the house, not angry but certainly concerned as tapping footsteps could be heard on the floor above, hobnailed shoes cracking in distinct sounds over wood. Albus sighed, adjusting his blued-steel spectacles and refocussing his attention back to the book that sat across his lap. Whilst the front room was the best place to get light to read in the house, it was by no means the most peaceful, not that his room was much better with Aberforth marching in whenever he decided he needed help with something…or that he and Gellert had been in there far too long unattended. It wasn’t as if it were really any of Aberforth’s business but his junior sibling still decided to stick his nose in it anyway. How in Merlin’s name were either he or Gellert supposed to get any work done with all the petty distractions that Godric’s Hollow held? No, it would be much better once they were rid of the place, not that Albus wasn’t somewhat fond of their family home, mind you, but as he had gradually come to realise – it was only nostalgia that held him here. Once they had travelled the world and spread their message, they would be able to find a better place to research and orient their plans from – a place they dare say might call home. _

_He was getting ahead of himself, of course, and was grateful to Gellert even more so than he already was that he often corrected Albus on such things – that he reminded him that their goals could only be achieved through careful planning. One step at a time but always several steps ahead. That flexibility and strength were what would one day make them the masters of death itself. Partners in everything. A shining beacon of hope to wizardkind to lead them into a new age where people like his poor sister would no longer be forced to hide, where the dormant force that lived within her could be set free. That she would be revered for her raw power and not culled or hunted as a monster that she wasn’t. It would be better. _

_“You know, you could help, Al, instead of just sitting there with your fecking books all the time.” His brother’s irritated tone cut through his contemplation and he glanced up in equal annoyance to meet the murky blue of his brother’s gaze who was standing there in an unfastened dressing down, rumpled clothes lying creased beneath. “I can’t find Ari. She’s hiding again and we can’t have her having another accident, can we?” _

_Albus’ brows creased almost as much as his brother’s attire and he stood, placing his book down with a sigh but following Aberforth out of the room to the front door, fanning out into their sizable garden. “She’s probably just fed up with you hovering over her all the time. I think she benefits from a bit of space every now and again.” _

_He practically felt his brother’s glare scorch into the back of his head even as he said it “If you spent any damn time with her, you might realise that Ariana is lonely. She can’t be in Hogwarts; she didn’t have all the opportunities that we did to see others her age and, in her state, it’s not like we could let her…” He trailed off with a sigh that was audible from the hedge he was searching through and Albus felt guilt seep through him alongside the customary irritation of his brother making the unfair and misguided assumption that everything Albus was planning wasn’t for Ariana’s best. He might not see it now but Ariana wouldn’t have to hide once wizarding kind took their rightful place once more._

…………………….

_It was later that night that Albus saw him again, when he was sure that both his younger siblings were sound asleep and that the door to his room was charmed shut securely. He sent out the fluttering silver form of his Phoenix Patronus from his window, signalling the all-clear and waited patiently upon his windowsill until the answering silver form of a Crow returned. It was only minutes more after that, waiting and breathing in the cool night air that he felt the customary brush of another’s fingertips upon his where they were curled about the edge of the sill. He grinned, boyish and pleased as he clambered back and used his steadier stance to haul Gellert in after him, it wasn’t necessary as either could’ve used magic to steady them but Albus delighted in the small bump of contact of the other’s body against his. The slightly taller form bending his neck to better face him, long flaxen hair tumbling messily about his face and icy blue eyes alight with apparent amusement. Like a joke that only he understood and Albus only released the other young man to offer him a sceptical look. “What’s so funny, Gellert?” _

_“Nothing at all, Albus.” The smirk remained in place however and Albus leaned forward, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to his upturned lips, the older boy breathing out a laugh into his mouth before returning the kiss. It was full of the usual forcefulness that left Albus breathless and he brought a hand up to curl in long blonde hair as his own dark-coppery locks were fisted and his head was tilted up to meet Gellert’s. He smiled into the kiss too, letting it deepen and clasping their free hands together at his side, twining fingers between one another and stepping back against the sill with the other’s booted steps. They broke apart some time later as Gellert released a huffed laugh, releasing their hands but bringing his fisted hand out of Albus’ hair to instead cup the side of his face. _

_“I trust that you finished reading the last Peverell’s journal?” His tone was business-like now, enthused and Albus’s own rose to match it, subdued perhaps as it may be the withdrawal – before they got to any more of the things that they had done before. The intimate things that he daren’t let any others know of and kept secret like a star burning within his chest, white-hot, hopeful and occasionally distant. But it was always there. Gellert was rough, they both were sometimes but it didn’t stop any of it from feeling so good. They had gone further several times in the short time they’d known one another, the period stretching into what felt like years as Gellert spoke of things that only the two of them could truly understand. Things that the people in Godric’s Hollow, Hogwarts and his family would not appreciate for what they were – such brilliance that drew them together as it had. _

_…………….._

_They had met by the last brother’s gravestone. In the yard by the church that had been filled with Sunday congregants and Albus had been dwelling by the stones for the lineages he had been tracing out of interest for the history of the place he had lived. He had been successful in discovering the pasts and names of most he found as the village was small and many had long memories as the wizarding communities oft did but had been brought up short as he examined the cracked, ancient stone bearing the strange symbol that was now so familiar. So vital to his future. Their futures. _

_Gellert had come up behind him, stood cold, cool and untouchable in his dark, high-collared coat and noble face raised high, pale and slightly pink against the low temperatures of the open graveyard. He too had stared at the stone even after Albus had started and turned to face him, staring at the unfamiliar, peculiar, handsome young man – looking so close to his own age but holding some indefinable agelessness all the same. Eventually, the cold blue had turned to meet his own curious set and a slight smirk had curled those later’ly irresistibly pink lips. _

_“Don’t suppose you’d want to prove to me that not everyone in this damn village is as tedious as they seem, would you?” He’d commented in a travel-lightened German accent and jerked his head vaguely in the direction of the full church where Albus knew most of the town – including his brother – were congregated. Albus had bristled just a little at the surface insult but had quickly seen past the teasing front to the genuine meaning – the test - and his interest had been sparked right away. He levelled a smirk of his own, digging his hands deeper into his grey coat pockets and arching an auburn eyebrow at the older boy in challenge. _

_“I suppose you must be Bathilda’s great-nephew from Austria then?” He snorted a little, relishing in the narrowing of the other’s captivating eyes as he continued “Have yet to see anything ‘great’ about you but I’d wager I have the patience to see if that changes.” _

_Gellert had looked stuck between outrage, amusement and being begrudgingly impressed by the matching of a dark wit that Albus could – even then - sense resided in the elder. “It seems odd to me that you – the son of a convicted muggle-killer - have little better to be doing with your time than inspecting the grave of a man who was thought to have mastered death itself? The last of the Peverell line. Could what my aunt told me really be true? That there was supposedly someone else in this drudgery of English ‘quaintness’ that could prove a worthy distraction?”_

_The thing that had interested him, past his uncanny knowledge of Albus’ life and painfully melodramatic sarcasm, had been the way that he didn’t use the words ‘muggle-killer’ as if they had been unjustified like everyone else did. He spoke of it as if he understood that what Albus’ father had done to the muggle boys who had hurt his sister so and that he wasn’t going to judge Albus for understanding what his father had done. Everyone else who knew of it judged their family for it; assumed that they were uncivilised, crude and violent and they had to let people carry on thinking that for fear of what would happen if Ariana was discovered. It had come as a refreshing shock to have someone speak of it with the clear tone of prior judgement of the issue that had still come to the more benevolent ruling. That Grindelwald knew of it and yet still approved him, nonetheless if the way he was smiling at Albus was to be believed. _

_Albus had felt his heart beat faster in his chest at the implications of the words beyond the implied judgement of himself and into the realms of what he himself had been investigating in the graveyard and his history books that were clutched so tightly under one arm. But, still, he had tried his best not to let his rampant enthusiasm show too much as he replied aloofly as he could. “And if I didn’t? I don’t suppose you’d have anything better.” _

_Gellert had let out a laugh, flashing white teeth in the snow that contrasted with his dark, warm-looking garb and had spent several long moments looking Albus up and down and the slightly younger man had done his best not to react despite the thrumming of his instincts telling him that something exciting was going to happen. That the tales he had heard of the Peverell’s and the decidedly dark rumours he had heard about batty Bathilda’s European family were true. Grindelwald had turned then, surprising the auburn-haired youth and watching on in a touch of disappointment as Gellert had continued trudging back up the snowy path before he, at last, looked back over his shoulder with an arched brow and continued smirk of his own. “Well, you coming?” _

_Albus raised his shoulders in a half-hearted, half-shrug without dropping his books or removing his trembling hands from the relative safety of his pockets “Where?”_

_The smirk widened almost knowingly without him really knowing him at all just yet “Does it matter?” _

_Huffing out a visible breath of resignation tinged with tendrils of anticipation, Albus followed. _

_……………………_

Albus awoke with the tingling upon his skin and jangling along his nerves that told him two things; firstly, that he was not alone in his house, and secondly, exactly who was in it with him. He didn’t jerk upright as another man might’ve at having an internationally notorious dark wizard sitting upon their windowsill – as if the last thirty years had never happened at all and he was some fresh-faced boy with charm and cocky ideals. In many ways, he still was. But not enough so that Albus didn’t still reach for his wand out of reflex, keeping a sure grip upon it but not yet showing obvious hostility toward Gellert. Both knew that if violence had been his intention, Albus would not have awakened from the dreams that were somehow in his head through supposedly impenetrable walls. And Gellert would also not have waited for him to wake of his own accord. Instead, Albus sighed softly, sitting up and sliding his legs over the edge of his bed, summoning his dark blue, silver-threaded dressing-gown, wrapping it firmly about himself, though made no move to properly stand or approach the other wizard.

“You’re getting better with your Somnomancy, Gellert. Never used to be able to go digging around like that without my noticing.”

The smile he received he was thin in the moonlight on pale skin and the nod was barely perceptible. “I’ve had rather a lot of practice, have I not?”

Albus sighed and rubbed a hand over his bearded jaw, a part of him wishing that he had been taking better care of his sleeping habits so that he might be better prepared for this encounter but at the same time knowing that there was very little that anyone could do to predict or prepare for Gellert. “To what do I owe this visit? I will admit that I’m further behind with my marking than I would like after recent events but then I suppose that would matter little to you.”

“Instruction on proper duelling etiquette seems a tad redundant in the face of the oncoming war, don’t you think? The enemy won’t fight fair, so why should we?” 

Albus sighed again, staring a tad hazily down at his socked feet for wont of anywhere better to look than Gellert’s intense gaze; it could do things to him even after all this time and the last thing he needed was to increase the temptation and uncertainty he already felt. “Must it always come down to this, Gellert? You know my answers as well as I. There must be something else that brought you here tonight more than rehashing old words and even older memories.”

“You’re right of course, Albus.” Gellert sounded almost troubled then and Albus met his gaze with level concern and the other smiled a little, a fond reminiscence curving his pale lips. “Something our dear Newt said. He made a…perceptive point that I sought to now address even if the timing may be considered…poor.” His captivatingly conflicting eyes skated over the room and everything in it in almost his usual cool calculating way but with a trace of what had long since been left behind between them. The bearded man got the feeling that, as with most things, Gellert was aware of what had happened earlier in the night when Aberforth had visited or at least was aware of it in a more general sense. Albus felt his heart clench a little and he shifted upon the edge of the bed where he sat, pulling his water glass toward him and taking a long draft of it before replying in a forcibly even tone.

“He’s not ‘ours’, Gellert, you know this, but that aside, what point was it that he made that has you so…disrupted?” 

The smile remained thin and long leathered-gloved hands played with one another almost idly in front of the hunched forward wizard. “Unfinished business.”

“Between?”

Pale brows narrowed derisively and Gellert scoffed slightly “Don’t pretend, Albus, you’re smarter than that.”

Albus raised a scathing mask of his own, cool as it was “You’ve done enough wrong that I’m sure you’d have plenty of _unfinished business_. Though, what you’d class as ‘wrong’ would vary so much as to merit the question of how you’d ever get around to discussing any of it at all.”

The glare deepened and Gellert stood, black, military-style coat descending to hang flatteringly about his frame as he took a heavy-booted step forward, not quite in anger but still palpable frustration “If you’re going to be as puerile as Newton often is, then perhaps I’ll set the matter aside entirely, shall I? Is this not something you’ve wanted for some time? Or was everything in your mind a lie?”

Albus, too, stood, arms crossed firmly over his chest and azure eyes blazing “The time when we could have talked this over passed years ago, Gellert. You missed your chance for that – for convincing me of the same you once did. It's gone. I’d recommend you not try for it again.”

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything, Albus, I’m merely here to…talk.”

“Then why bring up the memories that you did?” Albus asked, still raw from the fresher recollections of their closeness and the time before Ariana and Aberforth had both gone from his life, albeit in different ways.

“I thought that it might remind you of better times...that you might be in a better place to discuss this-” He looked almost apologetic and it only stoked Albus’ anger further – that Gellert thought he had the right to act as if he genuinely felt any remorse when he had spent the last thirty years making it exceedingly clear that he _didn’t_.

“You should have known better than to-”

“Yes! Yes, I should have!” It was Gellert’s turn to cut him off and Albus was shocked into silence, his mouth closing slowly, eyes wide and bewildered, fixed on the uncharacteristically distressed and irritated looking lines on Gellert’s face. The man was visibly sweating, one hand clutching unconsciously at the wrist of the other before wrenching itself away to rub furiously at the back of his own head in apparent chastisement for a display of weakness. He took another step forward, gripping Albus’ own arm fiercely and pulling him forward until he was practically hissing his words in the other’s face, eyes narrowed but shining forcefully.

“It has…been pointed out to me…that I was less than delicate with how I dealt with your…attachment, your relationship with your family and resorted to aggression when a…more tempered reaction may have been called for. It was…wrong of me.” The pauses in his speech were accented with words that were almost forced from between gritted teeth; furious but driven out nonetheless by a fiery seeming need. Though, what for, Albus could not say, he merely stood there, shocked and unsure of what had triggered this sudden…humanity…before sagging slightly in the grip when he realised the only thing it _could’ve_ come from.

“He told you to talk to me, didn’t he?” The question was almost bitter in its sadness but still fond in a way he couldn’t quite control “You’re only saying these things because you want to win Newt’s favour by making amends with me.”

He received no immediate answer but suddenly, in that moment, Albus felt no more than the frustrated, lonely seventeen-year-old again; isolated and angry at things he could neither control nor yet understand despite his arrogance. It was childish perhaps, but the whole situation was only tearing open old wounds that had scarred closed long ago even if they had since been infected and probed in a number of different ways since.

“He may have been the one to...highlight the situation to me but by no means assume that I was never quite aware of my...follies toward you. I was...I am...I assure you, Albus.” His eyes turned almost pure blue as they once had been then and Albus' heart melted, if just a little at the change. “Please.” He whispered, “I truly mean what I am saying...I am sorry.”

Albus stepped back, releasing himself from the grip with numb firmness, sitting heavily upon the edge of his bed and pressing a slightly shaking hand over his mouth for a long time, both stayed frozen before Albus moved his hand and spoke. “Had I known that what it would take to hear those words from you and to actually mean them…was to introduce you to someone capable of making you feel…” He swallowed thickly, eyes and head tilting to meet Gellert’s painfully hesitant ones as he felt his own harden. “I still wouldn’t have done it…what you’ve done, Gellert….”

“If Newton seems able to see past my…indiscretions and still claim not to care for me then how can you – after what you’ve said – not do the same?” He sounded confused, almost desperate and Albus merely huffed out a sad laugh, looking upon his former lover with genuine pity for the conflict residing within him after all this time.

“Because I’m not Newt Scamander.”

The dark wizard seemed to deflate a little then, leaning back against the sill and glaring at nothing in particular before turning his gaze back to Albus’ with nothing but soft dejection present. “That you aren’t, Al.” 

A little of Dumbledore’s will steeled then and he dared to venture long-repressed words “While we…are venturing into such untrodden territory of your own volition…what made the difference? Was it because it was him who asked you to do this? Or was there something more?”

“He…merely made it clear that I have admittedly done myself, and others, a disservice by not confronting what occurred between us…what_ feelings_ might have been undisclosed due to my own…inexperience in this particular field, yours too, perhaps, but both time and a less tainted perception…a somewhat objective yet informed observer…it helped to bring matters into a clearer perspective.” Gellert looked a touch ill then, as if the words were bitter and vile upon his tongue but he spat them out anyway, looking both thoroughly uncomfortable and a little glad to have done so. 

“The bond was not enough in itself? Sharing thoughts and memories for over three decades was not enough for you to understand? You needed the perspective of someone who was forced between us and then removed from it in such a wrenching manner? I thought you better than that, Gellert. Brighter than that.”

Gellert looked further irked, brows knotting and lip curling “Things such as these have nothing to do with intellectual prowess, Albus, any fool can feel things…it is more how they deal with them once they are understood that is the issue at hand.”

“And what do you plan to do with them?” Albus asked, voice just above a murmur.

“Would it be remiss of me to say that I would rather not do anything at all?” The wry smile that stretched his lips was almost genuinely apologetic and joking simultaneously and Albus let out a soft sigh of half-laughter of his own.

“Perhaps, but that isn’t to say that I wouldn’t understand it.”

Gellert looked on the appreciative side of amused “I daren’t leave it here, I’m afraid, as much as we both may wish it. I’ve been informed that it's apparently terribly unhealthy of us to continue as we have.”

Albus snorted in bitter mirth, running a hand over his jaw once more at meeting mismatched with sparkling blue, though sparkling with what, neither could likely say. “When you say that you’re sorry for your behaviour concerning my family, do you truly understand that what you did was wrong or are you simply acknowledging that you understand it hurt me?”

It was difficult to speak like this, about what happened to Ariana, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t need to be done. He knew - from the glimpses of Newt’s memories of his conversations whilst in Gellert’s captivity – that the dark wizard did indeed seem to feel regret for how things had ended between them so long ago but Albus had always assumed that it was more the partnership and subservience that Gellert had missed. Though, now…it seemed that there might be something more to it and despite not willing to let himself be strung along as he once had been, he couldn’t help but feel that unquenchable glimmer of hope within himself that had only become brighter the longer that Gellert spent pursuing Newt. As odd as it may seem, that passion and the change that was now so evident helped him to cling to that spark of desire he claimed to have abandoned, but he couldn’t…not really. 

Gellert sighed, looking equal parts irritated and pained “I’m not fool or callous enough to think that your sister’s death did not affect you and I swear that that was never my intention…your brother attacked, and I responded in kind. I never intended more blood to be shed that day than merely between us. Though that would have been of a more…intimate nature, I assure you.”

Albus couldn’t help but shiver slightly as a familiarly salacious smile curved Gellert’s lips but attempted to hide his reaction by drawing his gown closer to himself and looking a little too pointedly toward the still open window. He felt shame and anger at himself licking at his insides and a touch of it to Gellert too for eliciting such a reaction during an otherwise sombre and meaningful conversation that was well overdue. Gellert, of course, missed nothing but continued as though neither had reacted to his words even if a trace of that smugness still remained tracing his pale features. 

“Newt,” Albus began softly and Gellert’s attention snapped back to him immediately, the former swallowing before continuing “You do realise that even if he thought we had reached any sort of accordance that he still would not feel for you as you do for him? Not in the way you want him to.”

Gellert’s expression hardened and he glanced away, rotating the gloved hand he had touched earlier with a ginger touch, as if it pained him and this time, Albus did not let the action go unacknowledged and stared at it pointedly. Grindelwald froze his movement and began to drop both hands back to his side before Albus caught the apparently troublesome wrist in his grasp and tugged off the glove before the dark wizard could stop him. The skin beneath was severely burnt – red, blackened around the edges of his fingers and almost purple upon his palm, the scarring swirling further past the appendage and along the skin of the exposed wrist. Albus inhaled sharply and pushed his sleeve back, revealing where the burns marred their way up to his elbow, wrapped and ropy as his own pale scars were only looking decidedly angrier.

“What did you do?” Albus hissed, eyes darting up to Gellert’s furious ones and though the dark wizard looked as though he wanted to tug his arm from the firm grip, he didn’t, merely watching on with blazing eyes. Albus pushed, however, knowing what the marks meant and wanting to know what magic Gellert had attempted on Newt that would result in such a violent reaction – whatever it had been was powerful magic. By all rights, Grindelwald should be dead. “I know you did something. What was it? Was even the direct threat to your own life not enough to deter you from harming him further?” 

Gellert’s brows creased and he grabbed Albus’ own covered, scarred arm, tugging him forward to hiss menacingly directly in his face, eyes half-lidded but slit in their fervency. “_I did not harm him.” _

He leant back just slightly even if it was still far closer than they had been in some time “That is why I am still alive. I performed magic on him in a technical sense, yes, but it was not to harm. I merely undid a working that I had already placed upon him.” Albus’ brows furrowed at the possibilities presented by the words before Gellert elaborated pointedly. “I returned his memories to him. I allowed him to make the choice that I had previously been-” His lips opened further and let out a slightly shaky breath, very, _very_ close to Albus’ own. “-too afraid to let him make.” 

“What changed?”

“A reminder that I had my own memories to confront. That whilst Newt was acknowledging his own past and putting them to rights…I should be doing the same.” Gellert’s forehead pressed against his and his eyes drifted closed, wafting warm breath over Albus’ in a tantalising manner that had him both wishing to draw back violently and lean in for more. Warm, soft lips pressed lightly, like the touch of a breeze upon the corner of Albus’ lips, just the barest of touches as the final words were breathed out onto the skin. “A time, perhaps, for a little honesty between us all.”

He wasn’t quite sure who pushed forward or if either of them even did, it could have just as well have been a natural drift, a shift. A movement, however intentional, or otherwise, toward familiarity and comfort. But it was certainly Albus who began to push forward into the kiss with what was admittedly a needy, guilty, passionate desperation that had all sense – as much as he might usually have – fly out of the open window. He allowed himself to not think. Just for those few precious moments that stretched into eternity yet also somehow compacted the last thirty years and threw him back into his younger self. The illusion of happiness, of promise, of a future.

He broke it off with a gasp, feeling a thrum of thought along the bond that pulled him back into reality – a remembrance of Gellert’s experiences with Newt…a similar fusing of hatred, confusion, loneliness and anger into passion that made both take leave of better sense. Albus recognised the kiss for what it was and broke it off for the sake of sanity and in need of sharing a more significant intimacy with the other as his resolve steeled, pushing Gellert away with a firm hand though keeping hold of the injured forearm with his other hand.

“Not wise, Gellert.” He spoke softly, albeit a little sadly but with firmness to his azure gaze. Gellert’s brows furrowed, lips slightly parted but then they thinned into a tight line and he nodded shortly, attempting to pull back. Albus did not release him, however, and both halted in their motions. “Come with me?”

Gellert’s eyes narrowed further; scrutinising for long moments before he nodded slowly and Albus only paused to call his coat and scarf to his hand, slipping them on and fastening before they disappeared in a crack of apparition that left his bedroom empty. They reappeared just outside of the winged-hog-mounted gates outside of the school, Albus turning to his companion and making quick work of a disillusionment charm to hide the dark wizard’s presence from any wayward students or insomniac staff that might be wandering the ground this early in the morning. He heard an incredibly irritated sigh at his side and could keenly feel the scowl that Gellert fixed him with. “Don’t tell me that you’re trying to demonstrate to me the ‘benefits’ of institutional education.” 

Albus laughed quietly, hastening his steps as they approached the castle itself, damp grass underfoot going untroublesome as he charmed the way they trod both to be easy and undetected. “Not at all, but whilst we are being honest with one another, I thought that there was something you should see.” 

“And that something resides within this school of yours, does it?” He could hear the scepticism lacing Gellert’s tone but chose to ignore it, merely nodding and continued leading the way into the school through one of the lower tower entrances. They went up the flight of stone steps and into the adjoining corridor, stepping quickly and by dim wand-light up further staircases until they reached the seventh floor and their intended destination. Albus stood before the blank expanse of stone wall and concentrated on the same purpose that he had done so a dozen times before. The room that he had spent hours whiling away in both for privacy on some days and for the same that he did now – the room adapting to his will as well as it ever did. When the door materialised and they entered, the disillusionment spell slipped from Gellert’s form and he let out a low, long whistle, looking around in obvious appreciation of the unique nature of the magic woven into the fibres of the room itself. 

“I found the Mirror quite by accident.” Albus commented, looking over the carved edges of the item in question without focussing on the glassy surface itself “I had been using the room for some time, a workspace that could be more private and safer than any other, as it could not be stumbled upon or compromised unless I allowed it to be. But the thing about the Room of Requirement is that you cannot allow your mind to wander when entering or you will find yourself somewhere quite different or nowhere at all.”

Gellert’s pale brows were high on his forehead as he brushed a hand along a stone strut on the wall, fingertips sparking a little as he tested the magic inlaid there and his voice was impressed as he spoke “I had heard that this castle held such wonders but thought little of it with all the protections put into place upon it…more academic interest that could be satiated elsewhere in more pertinent fashions.”

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that this is a lax in my protection of Hogwarts or its students, Gellert.” Albus warned in a stern tone “I am trusting you to remain civil for tonight, at least, as you were the one approaching me in the name of reconciliation.”

Gellert chuckled a little but nodded, nonetheless, and though Dumbledore eyed him for a little longer, he detected no obvious signs of dissent so instead fixed his gaze properly upon the mirror. The painfully familiar image of he and Gellert stood with intertwined hands and joined spirits met his blue gaze and though he knew that the true version of the wizard could not see what he did, he still felt an odd warmth flow through him at having something close to his deepest wish belonging in the same room as the shadow of it that had tormented him for so long.

“I trust you recognise what this is?”

Gellert came to stand beside him, near on centre by him in the reflection, the two men standing just out of line with their reflected counterparts and Gellert’s head turned to look at Albus even as the latter stared onward. He could feel the gaze, searching, mismatched and curious. “This is one of the Fayan artefacts is it not? The Mirror? I had thought that the remnants had been destroyed and scattered along with the blade and crystal.”

“It wasn’t one that was as sought after as the rest. Most are reluctant to admit to themselves what they truly want, happier to remain ignorant to it or simply heeded the warnings history placed upon seeking out such knowledge…the addiction that can come from unobtainable longing.” His eyes never left the reflections, but he could see Gellert’s expression morph into something harsher over the soft expression that remained trapped in glass. 

“And what is it that you see that you would risk your precious school to tell me of?” Gellert ventured though Albus felt he already knew the answer, he obliged nonetheless

“Us. As we were. Or as I imagined we could be,” He swallowed, throat feeling tight but gaze resolute “United in everything. It hasn’t changed. Not even now. I thought, perhaps, after all you did, that it would have changed but still…it’s just as it was.”

Gellert didn’t speak but Albus could guess why. He was looking into the mirror too. His eyes were wide, jaw clenched and something like disappointment in his eyes, something akin to dread. Albus could feel the anxiety thrumming trough the bond but the other wizard had a tight enough hold on his end to keep what he was seeing in check. Curiosity got the better of him and Albus pushed at the bond, testing and teasing it until he left the other with more clarity for just a moment and caught a taste of profound conflict – a flash of permanent grey walls, two flickers of blueish colour and a tinge of auburn. It was all vague and fleeting – a confusing amalgamation of something that already resided within Gellert’s mind and what he was seeing at that moment. He was pushed out violently and Gellert stepped back, away from both him and the mirror, furious and apprehensive looking, sweat beading upon his pale, creased forehead and eyes cold and wild.

“Gellert, what can you-”

“No.” Grindelwald cut across, the mask back in place, anger replaced openness and the glimmer of familiarity eclipsed by something else entirely, he headed for the door and Albus was quick to follow. As much as he believed that Gellert was simply looking for an escape from whatever the mirror had shown him, he couldn’t trust the safety of the school or its students to Gellert’s temper or unpredictable nature. Both men traversed the winding corridors at a brisk pace, the returning route much swifter as it was fuelled by fury right until the very moment that they reached the wrought iron gates again. Gellert had barely taken a step outside before he was gone and Albus was left alone, stood forlornly, though with an odd sense of emancipation at the borders of the Hogwarts grounds.

Part of him was worried for the consequences of tonight; of what Gellert might do in his agitated state but the majority of him felt sure that despite outward appearances, Gellert would seek isolation only until his disquiet waned. Some experiences could only be dealt with by contemplating them alone. The mere fact that Gellert had come to him at all and made the confessions he had, told Albus that something within the other had shifted, if not irrefutably then certainly still enough for someone like Albus to notice. For it was more difficult than either could admit to hide that sort of change when they were joined by more than just blood and fire 


	7. A trip down memory lane

**“Put up your barricades…Continue your charade…**

**…What you're asking for means the world to me, you draw close as you whisper "precisely…precisely"**

**Your safety is assured, behind those eggshell walls of yours. **

**Friends and family fly by on wings of faith, faithlessly I don't recognize a face, not a single face. **

**Take this sorry soul, made enough of a mess on my own, on my own…” – ‘Money to be made’ – The Hoosiers **

Going back to London had not been entirely a part of Newt’s plan for the weeks that followed the Berlin incident…it had just sort of…happened. To say that his mind had been scattered was an understatement of Giant proportions – and not just the Hill variety either – no, it would be more accurate to say that it had been frozen, smashed apart and then blended again for good measure. Things had blurred together completely for the first whole three days after Grindelwald left, he had only awoken on the end of the third day as the innkeeper had resorted to hammering upon his room’s door, demanding more money in furious German expletives. Newt had blearily woken, fiddled about in his muggle-set case for several minutes before realising that he had no German currency left with which to pay the man – he could have charmed or confounded the man if he had thought of it, perhaps, but his mind had been utterly too muddled to do more than apparate away with his belongings haphazardly collected. It hadn’t been an entirely conscious or dignified exit, but he had managed to escape his minor Splinching into Calles with only an odd section of his fringe missing – admittedly giving it an impromptu much-needed trim.

He had then descended into his case after setting up the haziest of wards in a half-registered attempt at protection on the unstable, open stretch of cliff he had landed upon and from there, the next few weeks disappeared for him. He registered that he must have gone about his usual routines of care and self-preservation as both he and every creature within his case remained alive and healthy but he honestly could not remember most of what occurred between when he awoke each morning or fell into his cot each night. It was only the growth of the new Occamy young that clued him in to the time that had passed, the outside world fading out of his interest or recognition as the seasons and environments remained the same in his sanctuary. It wasn’t shock that kept him this way, he realised in the first minutes of coherency, nearly a month later, but more the odd sensations that were settling and resurging within his head. It felt like the snowfall never stopped – memories coming in fast and thick but settled and mixing too fast and deep to properly sift through and sort into any sort of coherency. The thoughts and impressions settling into confusing coherency as well as patterns that just didn’t make any sense to him as they sat beside what he thought he had remembered before.

**

_“I didn't know you could read German." Now familiar pale blue walls and crisp, clean white sheets surrounding him as an Auror’s usually stern face flushed beet-root red in embarrassment as Newt watches him with perplexed, wide blue eyes. _

_"I can't…" _

**

Newt stumbles across the next memories a little clearer as he too stumbles across yet another stash of carefully kept letters in the Graphorn enclosure under a rock.

_Words etched neatly onto parchment sent across the Atlantic just to reach him and bring that warm glow within him just when he needed it most when Graves was distancing himself physically for what he thought was the best. ‘Of all people, I truly believe you’re capable of proving his expectations of you wrong. You are by far one of the most uniquely strong individuals I have encountered in my life so I have faith that you can get through this.’ _

**

The next flash of coherency comes as he’s crawling about the Niffler enclosure collecting the strewn remnants of their nest into some form of order.

_It’s Newt’s turn to flush in humiliation as he finds Graves’ dark suit-clad knees level with his face as he chases a shiny gold ring that then resides in the man’s open hand as he smiles down with warm mahogany eyes. “Really Newt, I would have thought we would be on first name terms by now. Call me Percival. You do in your letters, don’t you?” _

_“Of course, yes, sorry…Percival.” _

**

_“I find myself unsure around you. I’ve grown to enjoy your company very much and I don’t know how to show you that without risking upsetting the balance of our relationship. I hope that you think of me as someone you can trust.”_

_“It’s o-okay, I… I trust you, Percival.” The words surprised him in their veracity._

**

He’s clearing through one of his bookshelves and stumbles across the caringly signed and inscribed copy of his book that Albus had gifted to him so long ago – to what felt like another’s man’s work and not his own despite his own awkward smile greeting him from the back of the book.

_“Newt, calm down, I was just curious to know how many dashing, well-renowned wizards I might be fighting off to win your heart.” The wink that Percival sends Newt melts the Magizoologist’s spine like butter and he runs an awkward hand through his messy curls, ducking his head embarrassedly. _

_“None, I would imagine.” He chuckles_

**

Its Dougal who triggers the next bout, when he climbs upon a vine-covered rock and holds out a downy paw to him to accept the proffered offering of the last half-off cabbages.

_He holds out a hand in invitation and Newt blanches slightly, looking from the hand to Percival’s face and back as if it might bite him. “I don’t really dance, Mr Graves.” _

_Percival chuckles again and fixes Newt with a knowing gaze. “No better time to learn than the present.”_

_He is swept up then in a swirl of blue velvet, citrus-pine-whiskey scent and dizzying pink sparkles as they dance. _

**

He stumbles across another memory coupled with a forgotten picture of Newt, his friends and some strangers at Queenie’s wedding, all doused in sparkles that lost their colour in the photograph. All smiling and waving up at him with the exception of Percival who simply fixes Newt with sombre, sad-smiling eyes. 

_“I’ve had a wild past I’ll admit, with both men and women but nothing to be ashamed of for the most part…Well except for one rather psychotic blonde I met about a year ago but in all honesty, I haven’t had much call for frequenting bars in, oh, I don’t know… about four months.” Newt catches on to the specific time frame and his cheeks flare again in a way that Percival seems to excel at producing. _

**

He's leaning back against the sink in the bathing area when the next reminiscence comes to him and he almost falls on the wet floor because of its intensity and suddenness in his hazed state.

_“I’ve faced worse, believe me.” _

_“We both have.” He hears himself whisper, Percival opens his mouth to reply, looking unfairly contrite as his dark, warm whiskey eyes widened but Newt follows the overwhelming instinct and grasps onto his courage and brings their lips together in one jolting, warm movement. There is a moment of blind panic when Percival freezes against him, lips unresponsive and body rigid before utter relief comes and swiftly follows bliss as he sighs into Newt’s mouth and begins to reciprocate. There is a faint scratch of stubble brushing his cheek and it makes Newt’s skin tingle pleasantly, sending his eyelids fluttering closed. Percival’s lips are surprisingly soft, warm and forgiving under his own chapped, trembling ones and Newt finds himself wrapping his hands around the older man; one twisting itself into his hair and the other around a broad, muscular shoulder…_

**

Fussing over the new Occamy babies as they twist and turn violently about their enlarged nest with their parents as the elder, more familiar creatures care for them and teach them not to eat their own mother just because he looks human.

_“Worrying just means you suffer twice.” _

_Percival chuckles and shakes his head slightly, leaning back against the arm of the sofa with a tired sigh, brushing a hand over his face. “You should take your own advice more often, Newt.” _

_“I will when you do.”_

**

His mind drifting to whether or not Grindelwald was indeed following Newt’s burst of clarity-fuelled advice or if he had simply gone off on some sort of violent spree to vent his feelings. It was hard to tell which way Gellert would go at the best of times and Newt was most certainly not at his best as his mind flurried further. 

_Percival being more foreseeing than Newt was despite the Magizoologist’s advantage of being linked to both Grindelwald and Dumbledore “You know him better than I, you probably have a better idea of just how deeply in together they were. Can you honestly tell me that you think those kinds of feelings just go away quite so easily?” _

**

He finds himself wishing that someone was there to act as an anchor. That someone – anyone – was there to help him through the confusing flurries and tell him that everything was going to be okay. That someone aside from Pickett was there to hold his hand and give him a sense that he wasn’t simply going mad and that the flashes were real and not simply Grindelwald having finally succeeded in breaking him apart. That the happiness he was recalling was true.

_“Newt, it doesn’t matter if I can’t do anything about it or not. I would have been there for you just so that you knew that whatever that bastard said or did wasn’t true. That he couldn’t hurt you by isolating you like this. You’re not alone, sweetheart.” _

**

_“The wonderful thing about you Newt is that there is no ‘usually’ - you could be dressed to the nines in a surprisingly well-tailored blue velvet suit or you could be half-dressed and covered Morgana-only-knows-what but either way you’d be just as stunning as you are now.” Newt flushes bright pleasantly pink right to the tips of his ears, and he chuckles under his breath, biting his lip nervously and drawing a low groan from Percival at the movement. When Newt raises a quizzical eyebrow at the sound Percival glares teasingly at him and mutters “It’s not fair when you do that you know.” _

_“Do what?” Newt asks bewildered but excited to learn what seems to have such a pleasing effect on his partner, Percival looks a bit abashed but also playful, a darker gleam shining in his warm-whiskey eyes that leaves Newt’s stomach forming knots._

_“That bloody pout of yours, Scamander – you must realise the effect it has on me.” _

_Newt laughs and shakes his head bemusedly, a bit indignantly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about - I’m not pouting, I don’t pout. I’m just closing my lips.” _

_It’s Percival’s turn to release a derisive snort. “Sure you are.”_

**

_“I want to make sure that you know exactly who my affections lie with; it’s _you_ Percival. Not Albus and most definitely not Gellert Grindelwald. I love you and I want to make sure that you know that I won’t betray like this ever again…. I just hope that you…that you feel likewise.”_

_“Thank Mercy Lewis, of all the damnable confusing things, Newt, of course I do. I love you.” He pulls Newt forward into a tight embrace, mutters against his shoulder in relieved, mystified _tones_. “Idiot, you scare me sometimes you know that, right?” _

_Newt huffs a laugh against his neck in return “I didn’t think anything could scare the great Percival Graves.”_

_“You’d be surprised how often it come up as of late.”_

**

He’s washing at the sink – deliberately avoiding the bath – when he is assaulted with the most intense memories yet, fingers brushing cold water over the permanently marked flesh of his collarbone.

_“Now if you have no objection, I’d like to make a declaration of my own.” Newt giggles slightly and nods, feeling a pleasant jolt shoot through him as Percival’s lips find the skin on the opposite side from where Gellert’s mark had resided and he feels the barest scrape of teeth. Percival breathes warm air onto the skin for a moment, clearly waiting for permission and Newt bobs his head, he takes it as consent. The biting, sucking bruise that Percival makes is decidedly tenderer than Gellert had been on either occasion he had left his – there is no savagery to it but still a satisfying amount of possessiveness. _

_Newt arches into the contact, feeling tingles shooting like an electric current through his skin from the point, further shivers of pleasure rolling across him even when Percival draws back a little, lips still brushing the skin and warm-whiskey eyes locked on Newt’s as his tongue comes out to soothe the reddened, already bruising skin. _

_“Percival?” His partner looks up at him, drawing the Magizoologist into his arms, pulling him back to lay against his stout, scarred, unbelievably warm chest even as he nods his silent assent to Newt’s hesitant tone. “Could you- could you… make it permanent?” _

_“Are you sure you want that, Newt?” The young magizoologist nods sombrely, biting his lip to find adequate words to explain his desire to have Percival’s claim on him - something that wouldn’t just fade away with time – the need for a memorandum of stability. The Auror seems to sense his meaning as his whiskey-eyes alight soberly and he withdraws his wand, moving it in an at first hesitant though quickly strengthening manner of the mark as the magic works to his intentions. The love-bite glows a brief gold against Newt’s pale flesh before settling back to the dark hue of a bruise that resides just above where the other irremovable marks reside on his chest. If Newt was to live out the rest of his life with numerous scars from the whims of a sadistic, deranged, obsessive wizard on his skin then he saw no reason why the man Newt loved couldn’t have just one. _

_A mark of defiance against Gellert’s sadistic, carnal, perplexing advances. A staked claim._

**

More had come but the clearest flashes had been linked to things that had occurred in proximity to his case or similar surroundings and most failed to settle where they should, leaving the floating recollections hanging and spinning about him with taunting impermanence. As it was, Newt currently sat upon a bench outside the flooded remains of a building on the outskirts of the Chelsea Embankment, despite the fact that the flooding had occurred several months before, the area was still mostly deserted and damp. Puddles littered the lane and remained through the mild weather that April had brought to the city, rutting the area around the delipidated structures and muddying the bottoms of Newt’s already frayed and sullied trousers. He had returned by portkey from Calles to Dover and then apparated here once he had regained his bearings a little – finding that he was somewhat uncaring of the trackability that the methods of travel presented him. He knew he was being constantly followed anyway, despite his attempts to thwart the various tails – somehow, he was still found – alerted to the presences of strangers and dogging faces by his overworked senses. A suited wizard in a green bowler hat here, a red-coated witch there…and the shadow. The one he had been seeing for months since his fall but had mostly put out of his mind; partly due to distraction and partly because he had a feeling that he knew just who it was. As long as he kept his distance, Newt was content to not force a confrontation.

It took some time before the thing he was waiting for arrived and when it did, he didn’t get up from his damaged perch, merely sat and waited, expression distant and mild whilst his gaze searched the flooded terrain and rubble before him. Theseus wasn’t as overbearing as Newt would’ve expected – he looked tired, worn out beyond anything Newt had seen from his brother in quite some time. Instead, the Head Auror sat beside him on the bench, leant forward as he sparked up the tip of his wand to light a cheap smelling cigarette with one gold-ringed finger glinting upon his left hand as he did so. The smell left Newt slightly nauseous, but he didn’t comment, eyes fixed a little guiltily on the ring – guilty that it had only been through Graves’ unexpected message that he’d learnt of the engagement of his brother and friend at all. Theseus seemed to notice his gaze and shook out his cigarette hand to his side and blew out a puff of air with a drawn-out sigh.

“We’re not telling all that too many people about it anyway.” He commented, a little gruffly and gaze, too, fixed upon the London skyline ahead. “Keeping it hush-hush what with all the work stuff that could get in the way…and the baby coming so soon.” 

Newt swallowed, hunched over and unsure “How…how far long?”

Theseus glanced sideways at him with a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t occupied with the cigarette “Any day now, should be…she’s stressing that somethings going to go wrong with all the pressure that we’ve been under lately but the healers say everything looks fine.”

“I’m sure they know what they’re talking about.” Newt replied, a little awkwardly but not knowing how else to respond without worrying his brother further over something he had no experience in – beast babies were one thing, but human ones were quite another. Being the youngest of his dwindled family and having no inclination of having a child of his own any time soon, he’d never really put much thought to it. part of the reason he had left was to keep Theseus and Tina’s child safe from him and the trouble that followed. 

“Don’t suppose you’re planning on sticking around by any chance?” Theseus asked, almost as if sensing his train of thought and Newt shook his head, biting his lip slightly before elaborating.

“Not sure if that’d be good for anyone.”

“If you really thought that, you wouldn’t be here.”

Newt huffed a half-laugh of his own, ignoring the way his mind swam as his eyes slipped momentarily shut against the cresting sun from behind the cloudbank. “I don’t really know why I _am_ here.” 

“Did something happen?” His brother ventured; eyes boring into the side of Newt’s face “I heard about a lot of Grindelwald activity in Berlin a while back that sounded rather like something you’d get yourself caught up in. Was pretty damn bloody too.”

Newt shuddered through his coat, swirling mind flickering back to focus upon the horrendous image of Fuchs’ body crumpling into an unrecognisable bloody heap on the floor. Of Harkaway’s battered form and nearly severed arm. Of Newt helping the man who inflicted it all in order to save Cole and the Firedrakes from captivity. He’d saved them and re-united the Firedrakes with their family but at what cost? Teaming up with the very thing that his brother and friends were fighting against? Fraternising with the enemy and without even having the flimsy excuse of the blood-pact anymore. The kiss was still fresh in his fractured mind and the apparent odd, way out of character... what was it? Kindness? Of returning his memories to him. It was all so confusing. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.” Theseus’ voice was surprisingly soft all of a sudden and the arm that encircled his shoulders from behind was welcome, rubbing soft circles into his back with one hand as the other flicked his smoke to the ground and stamped it out. Newt jerked a little, sniffed and opened his dry eyes.

“It’s okay…it’s just. It’s been a long time, Thee.”

“That it has, little brother.” Theseus murmured, arm tightening before he stood abruptly and looked at Newt expectantly who blinked but stood too a moment later, swaying very slightly as his mind blizzard gave a particularly violent flurry. “Well, come on then.”

“Where?”

“I made a promise a long time ago that I’d make sure you fed yourself properly and I can tell that you haven’t even been trying from the looks of you.” His eyes were smiling even if his lips remained thin and proffered an arm for Newt to take which he did after a long-suffering sigh. They appeared outside Theseus’ front door and Newt felt a little rush of odd nostalgia at seeing the place again after quite some time – it had been somewhere he’d spent a fair bit of time in the half-happy time of less than a year prior. The flickering remnants of meals and conversations had there when his own home had been below Queenie’s standard of what was suitable for dining – namely when Newt had neglected to leave the cellar door shut and it had been invaded by roaming creatures and their leavings. The memories weren’t as clear as they perhaps might’ve been, and Newt could only imagine that it was because Percival had been a part of them and that those particular recollections had not yet resurfaced.

“Newt?” He started and looked up to see his brother looking back at him with impatience and an increased level of concern that made Newt realise that he was still standing at the bottom of the steps and that his brother was now inside the house, holding the door open expectantly. The magizoologist shook himself and hurried up and into the house without a word, heading automatically toward the kitchen through the living room out of habit before pausing as a familiar scent was stirred as he passed an armchair by the empty fireplace. The citrus-pine and heavily whiskeyed scent nearly overwhelming despite no other sign of its source being near, his eyes zeroed in on the chair and noticed the now-familiar blue-grey of an elegant looking scarf screwed tightly and forgotten into the corner of the cushions. He turned slightly toward Theseus who was standing by the living room entryway, hands in pockets and assessing him before spotting what had caught Newt’s attention so and hastily stepping forward to grab the garment and take it out into the hallway – presumably to hang it on the rack. 

“He’s not here, Newt. Left a few months ago but neither of us have had much call for tidying since then.” Theseus’ voice was casual from the hall and continued as he strode back past Newt into the kitchen and waved his wand about the messy room to call the trapping for tea. “We’ve all been busy, and I’ll admit I haven’t seen Graves in longer than I’d like.” He chuckled a little at the perplexed expression on Newt’s face and explained softly “It was easier for us to get along when he wasn’t constantly pawing over you and…” his face crumpled a little “…and when I saw how bad this was hitting him. Made things…a bit clearer, I’ll admit.” 

Newt nodded mutely, not knowing what to say to that when the only memories he had of Percival and Theseus interacting were that of being at each other’s throats of a near-constant basis. Whatever had happened since then wasn’t really his business he supposed but did recall that the two had seemed to be getting along better the last time he was here. He couldn’t help but find a little relief in the idea that his absence had at least had some good impact upon his friends, family and…whatever Percival was to him now.

“You know, Tina’s going to be back soon, with Queenie too I’d imagine – the two of them are practically inseparable since Queenie realised that she could read the baby’s thoughts already.”

Newt blinked and let out a chuckle, imagining the blonde witch’s reaction “I’m guessing Tina was thrilled to hear that.”

“You have no idea. Queenie already knows what gender the baby is but refuses to tell us – it’s been driving Tina nuts.” Theseus’ smile was genuine if tired and Newt returned it as he accepted the proffered cup of tea and bowl of soup and homemade bread. He stared down at the food before him in a little trepidation before forcing back his unnecessary concern and beginning to eat, it was good and thankfully tasted little like the meal he’d eaten in Berlin, mopping up the broth with the bread with growing eagerness as his body properly registered for the first times in days how hungry he actually was. Before he’d even finished the first bowl, Theseus was pouring more in from a steaming pan that had been resting upon the stove and accompanied by a flaky, if slightly dried-out pastry that was smothered in jammy spirals. Theseus’ expression was halfway between bemused and fond, traces of worry still clinging to him but seeming to dissipate as he sat down opposite with a bowl of his own. 

He had finished the second bowl and began picking apart the pastry with idle fingers when he finally spoke again, mumbling a little around a mouthful of sweetness. “You’ve been having me followed.”

Theseus didn’t look up but shrugged “Not that you’ve been making it easy.”

“I’ve been trying rather hard to stay out of the notice of organisations I know to be corrupt thank you very much.” The words weren’t bitter, merely matter of fact – they both knew that Ministries all around the globe had spies in them, especially Grindelwald sympathisers that were hard to root out and he understood the pressure his brother was under dealing with them.

“We’re working on it but the ones I set on you are only there to keep an eye on you. Something I imagine quite a few people are doing right now.” He sighed, laying down his spoon “I’m not just talking about Grindelwald or the Americans either - I’ve been having requests – demands, really – that I should bring you in to talk to the International Confederation of Wizards. Minister Podmore, Eberstadt, Spielman…and the rest of them…they want your...accounts, Newt. Of what happened.” 

Newt froze mid-bite and Theseus was quick to speak before Newt could do much more “I told them no, I told them that even if they could pin you down anywhere that your…testimony would not be any use.” He fixed Newt with a hard stare then, blunt but understanding “We both know that, should that happen…it wouldn’t end well for anyone.” His expression turned sour, disgusted even as he continued “There are some in the ICW that were even listening to the rumours that have been spreading and that they should use you as bait to lure Grindelwald out into the open. To try and trap him that way.” 

Newt felt cold rush through him, and he stood at the same time that Theseus did, his brother’s hands held out in supplication “You know that I wouldn’t allow that, Newt, even if I thought it would work. I’m just telling you this so that you can be better on guard in future. I don’t think that anyone is actually going to try anything but…things have been getting more desperate with attempting to keep the peace. There have been more mass Muggle obliviations and deaths across the globe in the past year than there have been in years – since I’ve been in the department, at least. Don’t let your guard down around anyone. I know you’re being careful anyway but after that mess in Berlin…I was beginning to wonder…” he shook his head as if to clear it “Anyway, just…be careful who you trust.”

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for warning me about this?” Newt ventured cautiously, not sitting but moving over to lean against the countertop by the back door…just in case.

Theseus huffed a breath as he sat back down “Not if you don’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“The least I can do.” He replied gruffly

Newt paused for some time before venturing the question that had been on his mind since he entered the house “Why did Graves leave? Do you know what he’s been doing?”

“I’m afraid not, he left because think he knew he couldn’t stay here indefinitely. Tina goes back into work occasionally but less recently and she said that he was going off on solo missions, not turning back up for days at a time, sometimes weeks.”

Newt nodded thoughtfully, if a little glumly “He sent me a message. While I was in Berlin…through an Auror of his and it said that he was busy with something important otherwise he would’ve come himself apparently.”

Theseus’ brows knitted slightly “Sounds about right. Who was the Auror though?”

“Fellow called Harkaway.”

Theseus’ grin surprised him, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow “Cocky bastard? Bout so high? Blonde and the sort of chap you’d want to punch in the face?”

Newt snorted and nodded “You know him I take it?”

His brother nodded “Knew him back in Normandy. Only briefly but he proved to be a damn decent bloke. Was glad to hear he got to be Graves’ second and that he hadn’t ended up getting himself killed.”

Newt grimaced “Not through lack of trying. He…he got in a bad way…trying to protect me on Graves’ orders.”

Theseus’ expression softened into concern one more “He’s tougher than he looks. I’m sure that whatever he did he got out of it just fine.”

Newt tried for a smile but felt like it fell a little flat “I wish that people would stop getting themselves hurt on my account.”

“If you stopped getting yourself into trouble, we wouldn’t have to keep pulling you out’ve it.” 

Newt inclined his head, arms subconsciously folding around his own stomach in a move he neither registered nor understood. There was a clatter then that rang from the front door as it was opened, moved through and locked behind at least two people from the sounds of multiple footsteps on the floor toward the kitchen. “Smells great, Thes, hope you saved enough for-”

Tina’s voice trailed off as she entered the room, eyes fixing instantly on Newt. At first, there was a flicker of something he couldn’t place in Tina’s salamander-like eyes before her face split into a tired, pleased smile and she shrugged her coat off onto a chair, then stepping forward and pulling him into a hug. It was made more than a little awkward by the heavily protruding belly between them, but she managed it and Newt even managed to squeeze back without mishap before she stepped back with another smile. “It’s good to see you again, Newt.”

He smiled down at her “You too, Tina…you’ve got…well, um…”

He trailed off as he heard a cackle of laughter from the doorway and glanced over Tina’s shoulder to see Queenie standing there with a big grin on her face. “Huge? Glowing? Beat?”

“I was going to say…different.” Newt murmured awkwardly which resulted in a ripple of laughter about the room. He wasn’t sure if it were by style or lack of care, but her hair had grown out too, but unlike his own, it was clearly groomed and pulled back into a soft knot at the back over her neck. She was indeed… ‘glowing’ but more it seemed with the precipitation outside rather than any maternal benefits and the dark circles ringing her eyes clued him in to the pressure she was likely under. It was only the glint of silver on her left hand that made him recall her and Theseus’ situation and he offered a soft smile. “Congratulations by the way.”

She flushed a little but smiled in thanks anyway before looking a tad panicked as if a thought had struck her “You’re okay with this…aren’t you? I mean, he’s your brother and it's all happening rather fast and I kinda went off a bit the last time we properly talked- I mean about this-.” She gestured at large at herself and Newt had to fight back a laugh as he gripped her gently by the arm and prompted her to pause.

“Breathe, Tina, it's all perfectly fine. I don’t mind in the slightest. I’m just glad you got Theseus to do the right thing here.” He shot a smile at his brother who rolled his eyes and continued drinking his tea. “As long as both of you are happy, why should it matter to me?”

“I told you he wouldn’t mind, Teenie, now stop fussing, you’re stressing out little E.”

Newt frowned “E?”

Tina sighed in equal parts exasperation and fondness “Queenie is under the impression that because she’s the only one who can hear the baby right now that she gets to name it and that either way it's going to be called a name beginning with E.”

“Which are?” Newt asked incredulously, eyes going to Queenie’s smug face

“Not telling!” She trilled, bustling in from her loitering position to sit at the table and pulling Tina’s arm until she did the same, looking decidedly relieved to do so even if she wouldn’t admit it. Newt’s mind took a rather amusing detour as he tried to imagine what sort of name would have with mischievous witch smiling so but found that it was quickly derailed as another memory flashed before his eyes and sped the flurry that was already dancing within his mind – albeit at a slower pace than it previously had been.

**

_Scribbling a letter to Percival on torn-out sketch paper as he tried to ignore the Nifflers running over him where he lay upon their enclosure’s wooden floor – the very same one he had later nearly lost the wedding rings in – and quickly adding a postscript with a smile curling his lips at the thought of Percival’s possible responses. _

_‘Oh, and I still have your pen by the way. Sorry if you wanted it back, but the Niffler took it and I doubt I will be able to get it back at least until I’m healed up a bit more. Out of curiosity, what does the ‘E’ in your name stand for?’ _

**

He resurfaced from the recollection with a little of that smile still tracing his lips before he heard a barely stifled cry from across the room, he jolted, his smile slipping as he saw Queenie staring at him in shock, her face scrunched in confusion and apparent discomfort as her hand flew to her face. Tina noticed her reaction too and glanced between the two, gripping her sister’s arm and shaking her slightly. “Queenie? Where’d you go, honey?”

The Legilamens shook her head, standing and staring pointedly at Newt before jerking her head toward the back door by which he still stood, he took the hint and opened it, stepping out onto the patio and then the dewy grass. Queenie followed, her pink coat slipped over her shoulders loosely and eyes rather watery as she closed the door behind her, turning to eye him oddly. He endured the silence for a few moments more before he offered her a sheepish smile that seemed inappropriate given the circumstances “Sorry about that, it's hard to know when they’ll come on like that. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

Her rose-painted lips parted as she almost scoffed, eyes trickling over slightly and pressing her arms tightly around herself against the cold. “Alarm me? What the hell, Newt? You got your memories back! Why in name of Morgana’s ass ain’t you back with Percy yet? This has been happening for…what weeks?! You remember him! I didn’t think it’d ever happen proper but here you are, seeing more every day and you’re…what…you’re still running about the world avoiding him!” 

Newt was flabbergasted, unsure of what to say as, of all the things she could’ve said, he hadn’t expected that. He was quick to stumble out words though when she stepped forward and punched him in the shoulder with surprising force compared to her slight frame, each break in her words punctuated with another hit “Come on then! Out with it Newt Scamander! What’s your excuse?” 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? Its…it’s not that simple. There’s a lot that’s happened that I still don’t remember and I’m not sure if going to see him is the best idea when I still can’t remember everything.”

“And how in the name of Deliverance Dane are you gonna remember if you don’t see him? Whatever started these memories coming back is pushing like a domino in your head, Newt and each one you push is gonna hit another – you _gotta_ see him.” Her face crumpled and the tears slid faster, her tone less angry and more despondent now “I know it’s not the same when you didn’t see him as much as we did but he needs you, Newt…he’s hurting and you holding back until you get your head straight ain’t gonna help either of you.” 

He cut in before she could start what he sensed would be another furious tirade by snapping himself “You don’t know everything that’s happened. Neither do I, but there’s a lot that you won’t be able to get from just rooting around in my head – intentionally or not and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try.”

“I…I can tell that’s there’s stuff someone else is still blocking from me in there-” she said, gesturing clumsily to his head with one hand “-but that don’t mean I’m wrong. I’m not saying that you have to get back together with him or nothing just yet but… I think it’d mean the world to him if you tried. He’s gonna get himself killed if he carries on the way he is right now. He got hurt a couple weeks back in a raid and even though he won’t talk about it, we can all tell it’s still bothering him…there’s scars and everything and I ain’t never seen him be that careless before – neither’s Teenie and she’s been working near him a whole lot longer.”

Guilt pricked into Newt further now as he could picture the damage that had been done to Percival before – the scars on his sides from Grindelwald’s wrath and a few dotting his arms and legs from his years in the field. The idea that he was now being reckless and injured because of his separation from Newt…alongside whatever Newt had yet to recall…he couldn’t stand the leaden feeling that enveloped his insides nor the clutching sensation that pressed upon his heart. He may not remember all…but he remembered enough to know that he couldn’t let Percival endanger himself any longer. He didn’t need any more suffering on his conscience. Queenie evidently sensed his acquiescence as she straightened visibly, wiping, a bit angrily, at her tear-stained cheeks and forcing a watery smile. “Knew you’d get it in the end, honey.” She patted him on the shoulder in a slightly patronising manner. 

Newt quirked a half-smile of his own, head dipped and angled briefly toward the kitchen door window where the magizoologist could practically see the nose print from where his brother had likely been snooping. Theseus was in the process of hastily turning his attention down to the sink and rolling up his sleeves under the pretence of washing-up, but he was fooling no one if Queenie’s exasperated laugh was anything to go by. “However did he ever get to be an Auror in the first place? He ain’t very subtle now is he.”

Newt chuckled and shook his head as they headed back into the kitchen “How’d you reckon I’ve been able to avoid him all these years? He isn’t as good as he thinks he is.”

Theseus caught the tail-end of what he’d said and shot a half-glare at him despite looking oddly pleased in a way that Newt couldn’t place. He put it from his mind however as he looked about the kitchen again and voiced a question that had previously alluded him. “Where’s Jacob?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! He’s in Paris at the moment! Got some interest about our bakery and maybe expanding it so he thought he should go and get some more experience over there – it's real exciting but we both agreed that I should stay here with Teenie what with little E coming so soon and all.” Queenie looked a little crestfallen, if proud before she brightened and continued. “I’ll get to go someday though if everything goes well with his cookery course, it’s a muggle one but they seem to know what they’re doing over there anyway and when he gets back I can show him how to improve on what they teach him!” Everyone in the room grinned a little at that, sharing a knowing look – Jacob was likely in for quite a time when he got back.

Newt felt a small flash of worry for his friend, however silly it might’ve been, at the idea that he was going to be in Paris – remembering the last time that he had been there and the…unpleasant experiences it had entailed. It was stupid to think that anything like that would happen to Jacob and he quickly pushed it from his mind lest Queenie pick up on it. However, thankfully the Legilamens seemed perfectly distracted as she cocked her head, as if listening to something none of them could hear – which she was – and suddenly squealed in apparent delight, ducking down and dragging Tina around in her seat so that the blonde could kneel before her. Whilst Tina looked surprised, she also looked resigned and Newt guessed that this was a somewhat regular occurrence and Queenie put her hands to Tina’s belly and began jabbering away to it. The pregnant woman caught Newt’s questioning stare and smiled softly. “She keeps on picking up little bits of what the baby is thinking and wants to make sure it knows our voices well enough despite the fact that there’s _plenty_ of time for that when it _doesn’t_ involve shrieking at my stomach.” The last part was clearly aimed at Queenie who flapped a hand shushingly and continued to babble, almost too fast for them to understand but seemingly all about what was happening since she and the baby last…um spoke.

“Come over, Newt.” Queenie cut off in her babbling to grab Newt’s wrist and though he flinched a little at the sudden movement he followed her grip as she pulled him down to kneel next to her. He did so awkwardly and looked between Tina and Queenie for some sort of guidance, the latter rolled her eyes and explained “Gotta know you too, honey, you’re the uncle after all and I get the feeling you ain’t gonna stick around too long to do it another time.”

Newt looked up at Tina, asking for permission and she huffed a laugh and nodded, Newt paused, swallowed and mumbled “Uh, hello there...um E?”

He heard a snort of laughter from behind him and promptly aimed a half-hearted awkward kick to his brother’s shin without looking around. He glanced at Tina again and she smiled encouragingly but didn’t say anything, simply sipping from a herbal-smelling cup of tea and grimacing a little at the flavour. Pickett chose that moment to emerge from Newt’s jacket pocket and dash down his arm, looking around in interest at the new surroundings before seeming to decide that Tina’s mountainous belly looked like a suitable playground. Tina chuckled again as the Bowtruckle scaled the bulge until he reached its summit and flopped forward onto his front on top of the mound, looking around before settling upon looking between Newt and the smiling face of the women he sat upon. Newt smiled fondly as he understood the reasoning behind the movement – Bowtruckles could sense the life within the trees and wildlife they scouted for suitable homes and often had a sense of the abject rottenness or life that resided within living things. He could likely sense the new life that resided within Tina and as the Bowtruckle pressed his thin green face to the bulge, Newt could only imagine what he might be sensing. 

Newt ducked his head and tried again, gently placing a tentative few fingers on the side of Tina’s belly through her dark blue knit dress, just below where Pickett was now perched and looking at him almost expectantly. “I…I’m Newt…it’s nice to…meet you…uh, properly ‘spose…I…I haven’t been around as much as I maybe should’ve been but…but I think it might be what’s best for you and your mum. Your dads enough of an idiot to get himself into trouble without my help but your mums smart enough that I think she’ll do just fine without either of our interferences.” He let out a slow, laughing breath and was surprised when he felt a light thrumming against his fingertips, he almost jerked back before Tina’s hand pressed reassuringly against his own in a light grip. Even Pickett remained where he was sat, despite letting out a slightly indignant chirp at the sudden movement.

“Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong…it’s just a bit of kicking.” Newt relaxed slightly though flushed a bit embarrassedly when she added “Must mean they like you as much as we do.”

“Or that it knows an idiot when he hears one and he’s trying to tell him to sod off,” Theseus muttered and this time he was quick enough to sidestep away from Newt’s kick to stand behind Tina’s chair in a swift movement, not even taking his hands from his pocket as he smirked. “I do hope they don’t end up as trouble-prone as you are – Merlin help me if _that_ doesn’t skip a generation or two.” There was amusement in his face but also a shine of that familiar worry in his eyes – the same kind that was usually reserved for Newt but was now aimed at his unborn child. Newt felt his insides twist a little and he stood abruptly, eyes drifting toward where he had left his case by the back door but, almost as if sensing his intentions, a low chime sounded from the next room and Theseus swore lowly under his breath. “Dammit, that’ll be Limerine back with the raid reports. This won’t be anything good.”

He disappeared into the next room, closing the door behind him and a moment later, the sound of gravelly tones joined that of his brother as the Floo-connection was made. Newt remembered Theseus’ colleague from back around the time his mother had died, he had been the one to calm Newt down and take him to his brother…it was good to know that Limerine was still around. He’d always seemed to have a soft spot for their family and newt hoped that he was still looking out for Theseus even if he was technically now his boss. Newt, deciding that it could hurt to stick around at least until Theseus had finished his business and had an opportunity to say a proper goodbye, after all, he wasn’t planning on returning any time soon after this if what Theseus had said about the ICW was true. He found himself rather bemused to realise that he was now in a position where apparently half the wizarding world was aware of his…association with Grindelwald. And, that they were hoping to exploit it to capture the wizard. Had Newt thought that any of the Ministries were really capable of doing so, then he might’ve agreed but, as it was – even without holding the Elder Wand – Newt didn’t think that Grindelwald could be trapped quite so easily. Especially after seeing the brutality that Gellert was capable of where Newt was concerned – both to him and also on his behalf. He didn’t want to think about what Grindelwald would do if he thought that Newt was being used against him – even if he didn’t have the obsession over him, Newt doubted he would appreciate being bated and would respond violently simply to prove a point. 

“Newt.” Queenie was gently nudging his arm, coaxing him back into the here and now and he blinked, caught up in the dark thoughts as he often was before offering the Legilamens a weak smile. “You need a bit of normal don’t you, honey?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I mean, you need a bit of…stable…its why you came back here isn’t it? You feel safer moving around all the time, but you needed to stop for a bit and be near people who weren’t gonna push you.” She quirked her head to one side, clearly digging a little but not being able to sift much more out of the mess of newt’s mind than he himself could. “But at the same time, you knew that we would. Just not about the things you're really worried about. There's something else bothering you ain't there? More than Percival? More than what’s...what’s happened. It's like…like a feeling but…I can't get-”

Newt pushed back then, jerking back from both her physical grip and the grip he could feel prodding about his mind. “I’ve told you before that I don’t like it when you do that, Queenie.” He looked at her beseechingly but with frustration too. “Don’t do it again.” 

“Sorry, it’s just…there’s so much going on in that noggin of yours, Newt, and it's easy to get caught up in it.”

“It’s alright, just don’t...” he took a deep breath before finishing in a mutter “just don’t do it – you won’t like what you find, trust me.” He meant it but was still on guard, she nodded and smiled encouragingly before glancing over at where Tina was watching them with a bemused expression upon her tired face.

“Oh come on, Teenie, you know I can’t help it.”

“True, but half the time you don’t exactly help yourself or anyone else by actively going snooping.”

She huffed good-naturedly and slipped her coat on properly, heading toward the kitchen door “But it’s so much more_ fun_ that way.” She pouted, leaning against the open door with a dramatic flourish. “I’ll be heading off though to give you a bit of space. You can come over to the bakery if you want to talk, Newt – I guess I’ll let you call the shots.”

Newt was thankful that Queenie closed the door and apparated a moment later as the memories that flickered forth then were considerably more debilitating and…um intimate than any of the previous ones had been. 

**

_Newt is lying sweaty and practically melting into his own bedsheets as he arches into Percival’s probing fingers deep within him. The Auror grinning triumphantly as he crooks two digits upwards, rubbing in clearly practised motions and angling them to hit the sweet spot again, the third tapping out a teasingly irregular rhythm. A long string of inarticulate noises escapes Newt’s lips, his head thrown back and neck muscles straining as his eyes flutter shut once more, nails digging into Percy’s back in a reflex pleasure that runs through him in blistering waves. _

_Percy’s grin widens as he eases off the stimulation and moves to grip the base of Newt’s erection with a firm grip to prevent him from coming. The cheeky bugger quickly placing a spell to do the same when he removes his grip. It results in a strangled, desperate groan and confused, hazy sea-blue searching the American’s face for an explanation but Percival merely winks, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to Newt’s lips before guiding an impressive girth toward Newt’s suitably loosened hole. He gasps, eyes screwing shut for a moment, which causes Percival to pause, a moment later he withdraws, flipping them so that Newt is now straddling the stronger-built man and makes sure to get Newt’s full attention by gripping his hips, grip light but gaze firm. “It’ll be better this way, you’re in control, Newt, do whatever you’re happy with and we can stop if it gets to be too much.” _

_Newt feels tears press at the back of his eyes then, a flash of gratitude at the thoughtfulness Percival was putting into this even in his clear need – to make Newt feel safe and loved and in control…he nods shakily and smiles down at Percival, lips barely brushing his as he leans forward. “Thank you, Percival.” He manoeuvres himself so that Percival’s cock is once again pressing at his entrance - both gasp but the man inside him clearly exercises some restraint as he doesn’t move right away and gives Newt time to adjust. _

_“Move… please move.” Newt’s voice sounds choked – even to himself - as Percival makes a deliberately slow thrust upwards with his hips, hands still gripping Newt’s hips firmly to help angle. The young magizoologist releases another moan, deep in his throat as he begins to participate, moving faster as he rides the Auror…it feels so good…so right…like something he had been waiting for…to build the courage to take and now all he can do is move with the heat engulfing him inside and out… _

_“Percival, please,” Percival tightens his grip around Newt’s hips in a possessive, steadying motion, moving faster and harder in time with Newt’s face pace that surprise even himself “Bugger…” Percival smirks at him and Newt looks down at him pleadingly though with challenge still clear as he witnesses the teasing affection in those deep, warm eyes, shining darkly in the moonlight streaming through the partially opened curtain. “Fuck me.” _

**

Newt comes back to himself this time in a very awkward situation indeed. Lying half-slumped against the counter on the kitchen floor, limbs tangled in a heap, Tina standing awkwardly and leaning over him with a hand supporting her belly…and also incredibly hard underneath his worn trousers. He let out an embarrassed sound that he could not have put a name to if he tried and hastily scrabbled up, pushing his feet up under him and adjusting his coat as best he could so that it was partially hiding the evidence of his…discomfort. Tina rose with him, straightening and eying him with confusion and concern.

“Newt? What happened? Are you alright?” Her kind eyes were almost painful on him as he flushed bright crimson and edged about the kitchen toward his case, crouching down and quickly opening it before scrambling through his muddled head for an excuse. 

“Fine, yes, fine…sorry, thanks, Tina.” He ducked his head, still not looking at her and disappearing half into his case already before glancing a little to where Tina’s feet where. “Just forgot to feed…everyone. Excuse me.”

He took shelter before she could reply by closing the case lid and hurrying past the abandoned satchel and the mess of his shed to where the dented metal sink stood in his makeshift bathroom. He turned on the tap and was quick to unbutton his collar and tie, stripping off his coat and waistcoat to cool himself whilst using the other hand to splash cold water over his flaming face. He was trembling – both from the intensity of the memory and from intense arousal, the pressure in his gut and in his trousers refusing to abate even with the rapid cooling of his body and he groaned aloud in resignation, reaching for his belt buckle with fumbling fingers. Newt’s just reaching into his underwear when he freezes, fingers pausing just inside the line of elastic as the warring images of Grindelwald and Graves push at the backs of his now tightly closed eyes. Both only increasing his pleasure but with equal amounts of guilt. The shame made a tight, curling sensation form in his gut and he pushed past the guilt, taking himself into his hand with a gasp and leaning back onto the edge of the bathtub behind him for support. Twin recollections surged again at the pleasure and the feel of cool ceramic below his fingertips and underneath.

**

_His aching muscles soothed as work-worn hands moved over him as the weight of another hot body presses against him from above. Water splashing over the sides of the bath as laughter from both echoes in the tiled room’s air. Percival’s hands going lower, exploring and teasing as he presses his lips to every inch of warm, wet skin that he can reach from the awkward though pleasurable angle they’re at. The aches from the night before lost in the water, the balm and the soft, searching touches roving over him…_

**

Newt gasped and jerked forward, grip tightening on himself as his hand moves faster, a thumb running across his slit, mirroring since-forgotten movements on himself and causing his hips to jerk again as pleasure surged through him. His other hand moves from supporting himself to slowly run down his side under his shirt, skating across his ribs and stomach as they heave with his stuttering breaths before brushing over his hip and his inner thigh, pausing there and kneading the soft flesh almost roughly. His gripping hand twisted a little more, on the verge of painful but bringing him close enough to the edge that one final tug was all he needed, and he found himself spilling with a gasp into his own cupped hand. He sagged forward, breathing heavily and squeezing his eyes shut, pushing away the unwanted images flickering behind them – contrasting mirrored hands upon him in very different circumstances. One performing the motions as he was pinned and tied on cold stone and the other upon warm soft sheets…but both he had begged for…

**

_Newt is sobbing, shaking his head jerkily before he feels teeth sink into one of the few patches of unmarked skin at the junction between the back his neck and shoulder blade, he cries out, bucking forward as he is penetrated deeper than he thought possible at the angle Gellert lunges forward to achieve the bite. His arms nearly give way. The pace slows and he can tell that Gellert is going to keep it unhurried and punishing until he does what the man wants and so swallows back his shattered pride and presses his red-rimmed eyes tight shut as he whispers. “P-please…please let me c-come...please Gellert… I n-need you…” _

_He can practically_ feel_ Gellert’s smirk as he grips Newt again, fingers wrapping skilfully around him as he teases the head with his thumb, sending shocks through him that have him jolting again. “A little louder, mein Haustier.” _

_Newt cringes but chokes off another gasping moan when Gellert begins to time his strokes with his thrusts and Newt shudders harder, cold air whistling through his clenched teeth before he manages to separate them enough to grit out the words that will hopefully end this. “P-please Gellert… let me come...” Gellert’s laugh is on the wrong side of warm to be properly sane but he takes mercy on the younger man and speeds his frantic pace until Newt feels a surge of overwhelming sensation pool in his gut and then he is coming, spattering the stone beneath him as Gellert’s own pace stutters too. The warmth that fills him up from the inside is both satisfying and horribly, terrifyingly wrong as Gellert leans across his back as he finishes, teeth digging in viciously at the apex of Newt’s jawline and throat. Newt’s arms finally collapse out from under him then. _

_“You were wonderful, Liebling, so, so good, sweet thing…” _

**

He finds himself slipping down to the floor once more, clutching his head in his unsoiled hand, clenching the other reflexively at his side before hastily using a wordless spell to vanish the mess and finally allowing his eyes to slip open. They feel swollen and red-rimmed. It’s all too much. He can’t stand any more of these damn flashbacks. They’re beginning to control him – confuse him and create realities in his heads that conflict and concur with each other in ways that make everything in the here and now that much more difficult to hold onto. Seeing what Grindelwald and he had done in bits and flashes because of his distress was bad enough but adding invasive and intimate memories of such intensity concerning a man he was growing to remember…to properly feel for and to fill that odd hole inside of him that had nothing to do with physical hunger…it was too much. The pure tenderness was practically an affront to the callous, sadistic cruelty and selfishness that Gellert had treated him with in such similar circumstances. 

Newt pushed his watery legs up under him, washing his hands under the freezing faucet and again rubbing the water over his face and neck until the skin was almost numb and very pink from cold. His hair dripped further cool trails down his spine, soaking through his shirt and prompting him to search out a towel to scrub vigorously over himself. A spell could’ve achieved the same, but he found himself relishing the texture as he wrapped it loosely about his head, refastening his trousers, belt and buttons as he did so. He felt a nudge at his ankle and looked down in surprise to see a number of the Occamy twining about at his feet, currently only at the size of a regular corn snake – tiny in comparison to the size they could reach - and smiled, crouching and allowing all four of them to entwine about his wrists before taking them back over to their nest.

The new young were still in the nipping phase so he was careful to lower the elders back from a greater height than usual, still smiling a little at the continued concern his creatures showed him even when he wasn’t as caring as he perhaps should’ve been lately. It had only been through sheer force of will and routine that had saved most of them over the past few weeks and he felt a stab of regret at his negligence, abating it just a little by going around the enclosures and dropping off more food than he usually would’ve. Cole was still in a solitary enclosure as his first outing near any of the others had resulted in him nearly starting a mass panic by challenging the Zouwu and Newt had been quick to separate the two before matters could escalate. The Firedrakes were settling in well with their family as he had expected and aside from the new arrivals into his case, there was little new going on to check upon. That was, with the exception of the Phoenix.

He had been acting odd for months – since Newt jumped from Nurmengard – and whilst it hadn’t been enough to warrant a high level of concern from the distracted magizoologist, he had come to notice that the majestic bird hadn’t been soaring his usual laps of the case whenever Newt was around and had instead migrated higher into the cliff-face he had claimed as his home. It was by no means a sociable distance, but Newt had not really expected much better from the notoriously standoffish species …even if this particular member of it had proven to be so invested in him previously. Newt half-heartedly let out a low, long call, watching a flicker of crimson of gold plumage appear at the place he knew the bird to be before it retreated from sight again and he sighed, scraping his damp hair back from his face before heading back toward the entrance. Accepting that the creature was likely not feeling up to entertaining his whims – as his pride often dictated – he cautiously poked his head out into the kitchen, rather glad to find it empty and the sound of voices from the next room conspicuously absent. Newt felt rather guilty and more than a little humiliated by his abrupt flashback and subsequent arousal and departure but resigned himself to not really being able to explain it to either his brother or soon-to-be sister-in-law.

He wasn’t sure what triggered the next memory. It seemed to have no ‘domino’ attached to it as Queenie has described the connecting chains of triggering thought but it came as clear and oddly welcome as any before it – perhaps more so in that it wasn’t sexually heated or life-changingly profound…just…nice.

**

_Newt rolls over for perhaps the hundredth time that night, sighing and pushing his covers away before heading downstairs out of sheer habit, knowing that checking on his creatures and falling asleep amongst their habitats with the comforting sounds and smells might do the trick of soothing his restless mind. It had only been a few days since the wedding and his subsequent hospital trip but even with the potions to ease the itching accompanying his still-healing wounds, he couldn’t find any proper rest knowing what awaited him on the other side of consciousness. His bare feet were plodding softly over the kitchen tiles when he heard the light thumping and shuffling in the next room, Newt was quick to pull his wand from his pyjama pocket and tread over to peek through the living room door. At first, Newt could make out nothing but the dying green flames in the fireplace before he heard a light curse in familiar tones and realised the only person it was likely to be at this hour using the Floo-network. There was only one person who could. _

_“Percy.” _

_The wizard in question looks up from where he had been dusting down a set of immaculate dress robes in surprise and then apparent apology as he saw Newt’s wand held at his side and his dishevelled, pyjama-clad state. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to wake you-” _

_“You didn’t” Newt interjected, and Percival inclined his head slightly before continuing _

_“-I was caught late at a formal dinner for the MACUSA founders’ families and was presented with the delightful duty of entertaining my cousins and uncle in my apartment whilst they were visiting New York for the event.” He grinned a little at Newt though his face is wry and tired “I was planning on napping on your couch until morning if that’s okay? If it's not, just say and I’m gone.” He was already half-turned to the fireplace for more Floo-powder when Newt stepped forward and quickly took his arm in a gentle though firm grip and looks up at him with earnest wide eyes. _

_“It’s alright, Percival, I wouldn’t’ve let you set this up if I wasn’t happy about it. Feel free to use it as an escape from invading relatives whenever you like.” _

_Percival smiles, squeezing Newt’s arm in return before glancing at the dented clock on the mantle and then turning back with a half-hearted glare laced with worry “Mercy Lewis, Newt, what are you doing up so late if I didn’t wake you?” _

_Newt looks down at his bare feet briefly before glancing over to the cellar door visible through the kitchen archway “Just…checking in on everyone.” _

_“At three in the morning?” Percival’s brow is practically its own character in its scepticism _

_Newt raises his chin mock-defiantly “Yes. How would you know if that’s normal or not?”_

_Percival’s lips twist into a warm smile, his eyes shimmering in the lamplight “Because if it was normal then you wouldn’t be doing it.” He pulls Newt forward by the arm and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, nibbling gently on one before stepping back and settling himself onto the sofa with a weary sigh. “Go on then. Don’t let me keep you.” _

_“You couldn’t if you tried.” Newt’s smile feels like sunshine warming his own face as he disappears back down into his world of creatures, leaving the Auror swiftly falling asleep on his battered old sofa for the first time. _

**

Newt blinked, coming back to himself in his brother’s small kitchen with a ghost of that same smile gracing his lightly scarred lips and that same, now familiar warmth blossoming inside of him. He blinked himself out of his reverie however when he heard a half-muted scream come from the next room and he sprinted into the living room to find Theseus gone and Tina bent over on the carpet. She was sweating and her back was heaving with laboured breathes, eyes pressed tight shut and if Newt didn’t know better, he might’ve thought she was having a memory resurgence of her own. Then, thankfully, his brain kicked back into logical cognition and he swiftly crouched down beside her, a hand hovering over her back and thoroughly unsure of what to do with the heavily pregnant _human_ woman beside him.

“Tina? Tina!”

She groaned lowly and almost furiously under her breath, sweating and rocking forward with her hands between bracing herself on the nearby chair and clutching her belly in a white-knuckled grip. “It’s happening, Newt, it’s happening now!”

“Oh, uh right, where’s Theseus?” Newt asked, a bit desperately and looked around hastily, as if hoping his brother would appear and take over at the mere mention of his name. No such luck.

“Work? Bakery? The field? The Sahara dessert? Morgana’s ass? How should I know?! What does it matter? Not here! He’s not here and I need to get to St Mungo’s _now_.” Her grip on the chair had moved to Newt’s shoulder and was digging in so tightly that Newt had the irrational urge to throw her off as unwanted thoughts stirred within him. he took a deep breath of his own however and cautiously wrapped an arm around the fuming woman and guided her upward with as much care as he could muster.

“Okay, alright, come on, just keep breathing, there, that’s it, well done, Tina. Please help me here and try to get to the door with me and we can go straight away.” He spoke coaxingly as he guided her through the house to the border of the apparition charms and rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing way the whole time. The Magizoologist got the feeling that she knew he was using his usual creature calming techniques on her but if she did, she said nothing, merely glared at everything they moved past and tightened her grip on his arm until he lost circulation. He paused on the doorstep, looking around briefly before asking “What about Queenie? Should I get her? Or shouldn’t we just wait for Theseus? He can’t be too far, probably only at the office and I could get him here in-”

Tina looked pained as she took a deep breath, shuddering and letting out another scream through grit teeth. “Newt, honey, sweetie, I know you’re just trying to help but if you don’t apparate me to St Mungo's right now I’m going to kill you.”

“Right o’ then.” Newt mumbled, blanching and looking about once more uncertainly before doing as she asked and turning them both on his heel. Listening to the advice of the pregnant woman with a death grip on the back of his neck.

Rather seemed like the sensible thing to do at the time.

**A/N – Two chapters to apologise for slow updates and shoddy content? **


	8. Birth and flight

**“So you want to know the difference between the broken and the lost, between the voiceless and the muted, between the payback and the cost. **

**So you want to know the distance between the incomplete and made, between the drowning and the drifting, between the drowning and the saved**

**So you want to know the distance between the boundless and the chained and you want to know the difference between the taken and the gained…No, I don't want to be the measure.” – ‘The Measure’ – The Helio Sequence**

Edwin Perseus Scamander was born on the 30th of March in the year 1928 in the oddly small maternity wing of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, not, unfortunately, with the presence of his mother and father both but just to the former, accompanied by one Newton Scamander. Much to the chagrin of the nurses who assisted in the birth, it ended up being Newt – as the next closest thing to being family at the time, to sign the witness book and evidence for the new child’s birth. Magical births were traced as much as possible in order to evidence and catalogue any future misuses of magic and also who may be needed to be sent applications to Hogwarts when their time came, eleven years down the road. There had been a great deal of screaming, yelling and a particularly notable incident when Tina had grabbed blindly for Newt’s hand only to take hold of his shirt collar instead and had pulled him face-first to collide with the metal rail of the bed as he lost his balance. After that, he had kindly been relocated to the opposite side of the room where he sat in red-faced awkwardness, feeling rather useless but somewhat glad that Tina was being suitably taken care of by the three doting nurses throughout the process. Birthing Graphorn, Nifflers and Occamy were quite a different thing to the incredibly messy affair that he witnessed on that day. For one thing, Occamy merely laid eggs and waited for them to hatch with a fierce protectiveness and if Newt were honest –which he was to Tina shortly before the head slamming incident, coincidentally (or not) – he thought that the whole egg-laying method seemed rather a lot easier for all involved.

Mammalian births weren’t foreign to him either, but it felt different when it was the soon-to-be wife of your elder brother who was suffering through the process with only him for emotional support. There was part of him that had wanted to contact Theseus but short of leaving Tina altogether he couldn’t do much more than attempt to contact him through a hastily sent Patronus…one that had gone unanswered. Most likely because he didn’t actually know where his elder sibling was. So instead, he sat, slumped forward in his suitably uncomfortable wooden seat and pulled his lanky legs in as far they would go underneath the chair, tucked protectively around his case so as to not get in anyone’s way. When the actual birth occurred, it was to a long stream of curses that would’ve likely been discouraged from being uttered around a child in other circumstances, but as it was, no one had the bravery the challenge the red-faced Auror on it.

Newt’s view had been blocked at first by the assembled backs of the healers and nurses and then again by Tina’s arms and a thick towel that was wrapped around the mewling form in her arms but eventually, she turned to offer him an exhausted, watery though proud smile and the Magizoologist had finally had the courage to approach again. He stood, stretching his stiff legs and rubbing his hair away from the bruise on his forehead with a slight wince before crouching down next to the bed so that he was at something close to face-level with the bundle in his friend’s arms. He was met with a half-open pair of big, bright blue eyes that blinked sleepily although oddly a little crossly at him, big pink lips open and sucking slightly on a balled-up fist that had worked its way from the tightly wrapped towel. Newt supposed that the intense blueness of his eyes was just the natural brightness that most new-borns had but it reminded him so strongly of Theseus’ that he had a feeling the brightness might just stay. 

“Definitely got some of his dad in him.” Newt muttered without thinking and Tina looked at him with raised brows before he let out a small chuckle and explained “Just look at the way he’s glaring at me.”

The comment prompted an awkward chuckle from the remaining nurse still bustling about the room and even a tired one from Tina which trailed off and when Newt looked back from the nurse’s smiling face he noticed that Tina had drifted off to sleep with Edwin clutched protectively, though softly in her sweaty arms. Newt glanced back to the nurse and she smiled encouragingly, absently charming some of the towels and equipment clean with a few waves of her wand. “It's perfectly normal. Everything seems alright considering all the complications. She’ll be just fine with a bit of rest.”

Newt’s brows furrowed “Complications?”

The nurse looked confused and glanced between Newt and the sleeping Tina before paling a little and replying in a hesitant tone “I would’ve thought she’d’ve told you after her earlier check-ups-”

“I’m not the father.” Newt blurted and the nurse looked abashed for several moments before Newt pressed “My brother is but he couldn’t be here, so I came instead…I don’t think she told him either though…what complications are you talking about?”

She looked conflicted, tucking a strand of frazzled blonde hair back behind her cap before relenting “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you now.” Her features softened into apology “She suffered from Dragon Pox at some stage. Recently, by the scarring and whilst it doesn’t seem to have had any lasting effects past a little minor scarring on her legs, it can sometimes cause difficulties during pregnancy and birth.” She eyed the sleeping Auror and baby with sympathetic eyes “When she was delayed in giving birth, she started getting a bit more agitated, came in quite a few times to ask if there was anything we could do but the Dragon Pox made her weaker than she otherwise might’ve been so we didn’t want to risk anything by hurrying it along with magic. Maternal magic is difficult and usually, we just try to make do with herbs for the pain and discomfort and that’s about it.”

Newt nodded slowly, thinking back to the herbal tea that Tina had been drinking at the house, frown lines furrowing his brow as he too looked down at his slumbering friend. It hurt to know that the attack that had ended up hurting Tina instead of Theseus had had such lasting effects and he could only feel glad that the birth had seemingly gone off without any lingering negative consequences. At least not yet. He felt anger at Grindelwald bubble up like bile in the back of his throat – that the man’s petty, sadistic whims had made an already trying time for his friend that much more complicated. Knowing Tina, she likely wouldn’t’ve told Theseus because of both’s stubborn need to control everything and Tina’s need to spare other’s feelings. He understood it, he did, there were some things that were best being kept to oneself but at the same time, he felt guilt eat at him, thinking Tina’s wondering and waiting in silence, concerned over her son’s life because of a mistake and the sadistic whims of a delusional madman. No matter how much said madman might’ve proclaimed to change more recently.

“Stubborn dear.” The nurse murmured, standing by the bed and plumping the pillow, Tina only shifted a little, curling up a little and readjusting the weight in her arms before settling still again. The nurse looked back up at Newt. “Is there anyone you want to contact? I can keep an eye on her if you need a few minutes?”

Newt nodded, thinking that Queenie was the best person to go to despite her having previously skipped his mind in the rush, he turned on the spot and apparated to the front room of Jacob and Queenie’s bakery. He was met by a pale-faced blonde with a raised wand who shot a jinx at him which he hastily deflected out of reflex seconds before he turned to face where she stood in a lavender coloured dressing down on the stairs. The moment she saw his face she squeaked and rushed down the stair to pat ineffectually at his shoulder where the jinx would’ve likely hit with an apologetic grimace. “Sorry bout that, honey, can never be too careful ya know and-”

“Tina had the baby.” Newt blurted and Queenie froze, blinked twice and then resumed her apparently a recent favourite habit of smacking him repeatedly in the arm, prompting him to jump back and raise his arms in mock defence.

“Damn it, Newt, why didn’t you get me sooner? Is she okay? What about little E? is everything okay? Where the hell is Theseus? Why are you just standing there? Let’s go!”

Newt found himself laughing, not quite sure why but full-bodied, genuine chuckles burst forth from his lips and he lowered his arms as Queenie looked at him like he’d lost his marbles. He sobered himself just enough to offer a sheepish grin, knowing that the laughter was probably some sort of stress or awkwardness induced reaction. “She’s fine, Queenie. The baby too. Healthy boy. Hands. Feet… Blue eyes and everything.” 

Queenie seemed to calm down a little then, her hands resting a little lighter on his shoulders and one flying to her own chest before she nodded firmly and summoned her coat, slipping it on over her nightdress and robe and looking at Newt expectantly. He smiled at her encouragingly although he felt it might’ve come off a tad weak and turned on the spot with her arm clutched around his, appearing back into the hospital room moments later. The nurse from before looked up sharply but smiled when she saw them, standing up and taking her leave as Queenie took quick little steps over to her sister, slipping down into the chair by her bed and began to run a soft hand over Tina’s sweaty brow. Her eyes quickly darted down to the boy cradled against Tina’s chest, taking in every aspect with sharp precision and smiling softly at what she saw…and likely heard too.

With a more appropriate companion now looking over Tina, Newt felt somewhat useless standing there and his scattered thoughts began trailing off between the dual concerns for Tina’s health and what was keeping his brother. Though both were admittedly rather welcome distractions from the same ones that had been dogging him lately.

“She was worried about E more than anything, but she doesn’t blame you for that Dragonpox letter, you know,” Queenie said, not looking up from the babe in her sister’s arms but a knowing look warming the side of the face that Newt could see, and he stiffened slightly, resolving to raise his mental defences in future. The blonde continued regardless, “Teenie told me after I guessed something was wrong, but she didn’t want to worry Theseus or anyone else as he’s been reckless enough as it is on the whole Grindelwald front. She didn’t want him risking himself more because of what that man did…not that Theseus isn’t already being reckless on that front…” The Legilimens looked over to him when he didn’t reply and regarded him with wide eyes, “She’s okay though. They both are, and that’s what matters,” she paused. “Thanks for getting her here.”

“I did tell her you’d want to be here but after the death threats started coming, I thought it might be a good idea to just get her here,” Newt said with utter sincerity, a slight glimmer of mirth in his tainted-green eyes being the only tell, Queenie grinned at him and shook her head softly.

“I might actually be kinda glad that I missed the actual birth bit. I can feel her pain even if she’s just stubbed a toe…don't really fancy experiencing that first-hand…but I would’ve of if she needed me…I’m just glad someone was here though.”

“Speaking of which, I’m going to try to find Theseus. I tried to contact him before and I’m…” he paused, swallowing slightly and stooping under his previous seat to grab his case, “I think I should be going soon, and I figure I should say goodbye and make sure he’s alright before I do.”

Queenie looked unsurprised and nodded simply, “See that you do, Newt Scamander,” It sounded more like a reprimand than a goodbye, but Newt gathered that was what it was. Just before he turned on the spot however, he heard her murmur, “Give Percival my love, will you?”

Newt froze for a moment before nodding softly and apparating, reappearing outside the main Ministry entrance. He figured that it would be the most likely place to find Theseus or at least find someone who knew where he had been sent off in such a hurry: to leave both his heavily pregnant partner and his sporadically present brother. Newt made his way inside with little difficulty until he reached the atrium where he was stopped by two red-robed officials who waved their wands over his coated frame and subjected him to stern questions on his purpose in the Ministry building at the late hour. He explained who he was and who he was looking for, promptly getting directed to follow another robed wizard to the lifts at the other end of the atrium.

He didn’t say anything as they ascended but the customary grim look and equally stoic demeanour of the man beside him told him little – Ministry folk always seemed that way, especially when they were around him. They reached the correct floor and Newt was taken to an empty office at the end of the hallway – not Theseus’ – and this was enough to set him on edge. He dug his hand into his coat pocket, curling it comfortingly around his wand and waiting. Newt thought back to his brother’s warning and was tempted to simply hightail it out of there that very moment, but he knew that in order to do that he would have to go back through most of the Ministry and with his case on him, and he didn’t think that getting past that many witches and wizards was a likely outcome. Even if it came down to it, he wasn’t really sure if he could leave Theseus’ fate unknown with his fiancé and new-born waiting in St Mungo’s – he owed it to all involved to let his brother know what had happened….and to say goodbye. Judging by his track record, there was really no telling what the future held for him what with the brewing war and Gellert’s apparent indecision – not even considering his newfound desire to see Percival. He couldn’t quite explain it, but a good portion of the leaden guilt he was experiencing seemed associated with Percival and the segments of memory that had yet to return to him. Newt knew that Queenie had been making sense when she told him to visit the Auror – not only to resolve matters but hopefully to help him recover the last of what he was seeking. His next stop after Theseus would be America. He committed himself to the decision – stuck his courage to the post. It might not happen right away, the journey he would be the safest taking without detection would be by ship again and that would take a month at least. He had time…. provided that his brother was in one piece when he found him.

Newt’s ruminating was broken minutes later by a tired but familiar form entering the room – greying sandy hair and firm tawny eyes set into a weathered face and bowed, well-built frame – Limerine smiled at him thinly. The familiar face eased Newt’s suspicion a little but he kept his hands in his pockets close to defence nonetheless – they might well have sent Limerine in as a friendly face to placate him after all. Sharp eyes took in Newt’s tenseness and he sighed a little, moving around to sit behind his desk with a weary huff.

“It’s alright, Newt – I can call you that, right? I rather prefer using titles with your brother and I haven’t the patience for pretence anyway,” he began scratching out something onto a piece of parchment, flipping it over and scribbling further on the back before looking up at Newt again who nodded slowly. “Sorry, anyway, there’s no call for concern on your part just yet. No one is going to try to arrest you, and anyone who attempts it would find out very quickly that trying to get the jump on a Scamander – especially an informed one – is a very poor choice.”

Newt’s brows knitted further, and he made no move to sit when Limerine gestured toward the empty seat in front of him. “I’m not quite sure what you’re implying, Mr Limerine. I’m only here to give some good news to my brother. I was rather hoping you’d know where he is.”

“I do, in fact,” Limerine replied readily, continuing to scrawl across more notes as he spoke, eyes tracing his work carefully after each line. “He’s in St Mungo’s, just where he’s supposed to be.”

Newt jolted, mouth opening slightly in surprise but also feeling relief flow through him “He got my message then? About the baby?” 

Limerine looked up at him sharply, uncertain anger marring his features “What do you mean, what baby?”

Newt blinked “If you didn’t mean- what happened to Theseus? Is he injured?”

Limerine sighed, face tight as he stood.

“I thought he would have told you everything,” he moved around the table and gripped Newt by the arm tightly, glancing about and casting an intricate though swift charm that scoured the room in a thin blue light, leaving everything feeling very cool and still. “I apologise for the cloak and dagger, but we have more leaks in the department than a copper cauldron,” he released Newt’s arm when he noticed that the Magizoologist’s expression was tight and fixed upon the unwanted grip. “Needed physical contact to exempt you from the stasis charm. More reliable than most privacy spells that can ward against eavesdroppers and bugs.” 

“What’s going on?” 

“The leaks are worse than we had previously thought. There are plans to overthrow your brother. To kill him and have more…brutal members of the department take over in the campaign against Grindelwald. After Paris and the whole Dumbledore fiasco, they’re getting desperate to bring Grindelwald in – whatever it takes. And that includes doing a number of things that neither your brother nor I would stand for.”

“He told me that there were people who wanted to use me as bait for Grindelwald – or at the very least that they wanted me to make a statement about…what happened,” Newt’s jaw clenched as he spoke, knuckles white in his pocket around his wand. “He told me he had it in hand. What’s happened to him?”

“He came up with a plan a little over two months ago should he get out of his depth – a failsafe to protect his family. I had thought he had only meant you and his American companion, but it seems that he was being more cautious than I thought,” Limerine shook his head slightly, as if bewildered and impressed in equal amounts before continuing, “Anyway, he’s in St Mungo’s, or least it will appear as if he is. For all intents and purposes as far as the Ministry and his family will be concerned – he was gravely injured in a raid and will not awake in the foreseeable future. In the meantime, I am to take over until such a time that we’ve rooted out all the main…issues.”

“But that could take years,” Newt pointed out. “There’s no way you can sort all of this on your own. And even if you find all of them, there will always be more. Grindelwald is…he’s persuasive, and I don’t think that just because you get some of his followers or opposers out of the way that there won’t be countless more in the making.” 

“I know, but this is necessary, Newt,” Limerine replied, not without sympathy but firmly. “If they believe that Theseus is out of the picture, then they will become more brazen in their actions and intentions – they believe that as a more senior Ministry member that I am supportive of more radical methods and as far as the Grindelwald supporters go…I have no loved ones or family to threaten. Your brother has a family – more than I anticipated and I will do what I can to help him protect it.”

Newt looked on at the older man with gratitude, suspicion tracing it still but a genuine appreciation of what his brother’s oldest friend was willing to do and risk. “What about Tina and their son? Won’t they be in danger if anyone suspects something amiss with Theseus’…injuries?”

Limerine shook his head, “No, Theseus took care of that. Tina is returning to the States. She’ll be out of the way of most of it, and her sister is being encouraged to join her husband in Paris for the foreseeable future.”

He pre-empted Newt’s contradictions with a wave of his hand and a hasty intervention, “I know it sounds simple but believe me when I say that Theseus and I have taken no half-measures in securing their welfare. The full details shall remain with Theseus alone – even I don’t know it all. Safety’s sake and all,” he frowned deeply as he scrutinised Newt’s perplexed face, “I’m sorry that he didn’t tell you himself, but I suspect that he thought you might employ some form of traditional Scamander recklessness should you know ahead of time. However – whether he approves or not – I don’t feel comfortable keeping you in the dark when he is essentially vanishing off the face of the earth and hiding his family along with it.”

Newt’s head was swimming, the new information and its implications overwhelming him alongside the blizzard that already existed within his aching cranium, “Do they know? Tina, Queenie, Jacob?”

“Not yet, but it's being taken care of as we speak. The raid was the signal that will trigger a chain of events and spells that I suspect Theseus was working on for some time before he told me of his intentions. Thorough bugger that he is.” 

Newt let out a long, irritated breath at his brother’s reticent nature, but at the same time, he felt an odd sort of pride that Theseus was going to such great lengths to keep his new family out of harm’s way – even if it was at the cost of being there for them. A thought occurred to him then and he frowned, looking up at Limerine from where his gaze had been boring holes in the table behind him. “If he had plans for all his family, then why not tell me today? Or at least hint that something was going to happen?”

Limerine offered him a grim smile, “He didn’t know it was happening today until I contacted him by a secure Floo line with the passphrase slipped into a supposed raid report. It was the signal for when I found out the turncoats were going to be making their move.”

“So everyone that saw me enter-” Newt began with a dawning realisation and dread and Limerine nodded grimly.

“Yes, there’s a good chance that half of them are now planning to ambush or detain you on your way out. Part of the reason I think Theseus should’ve told you about this in advance, so that you didn’t walk right into the dragon’s lair, but we are where we are, I suppose.” 

“I would’ve preferred real dragons,” Newt muttered under his breath, withdrawing his wand with steely frustration, but Limerine flapped his hand, shaking his head until Newt lowered it a fraction.

“I’ve got a few routes out that of here that don’t involve the main entrance or any detection, but we’d have to hurry and-” 

Newt shook his head, inspiration flooding him and steeling his determination as well as his grip on his wand, “No, that’ll just arouse suspicion if I escape your office without detection. My brother is likely going to hate me for this, but I think the best way to ensure that Theseus’ story and your appointment go unquestioned is if the rest of the Ministry have a bigger target to worry about.”

Limerine looked confused for several moments as Newt crouched, shaking his hand over the space of disillusioned air where his case lay before comprehension flashed over his face and he shook his head vehemently, “Not a chance, Newt. No bloody creatures. If Theseus survives all of this, he’d skin us both.” He looked pained as he watched Newt descend into his case and the magizoologist looked back up out at the Senior Auror with a grin that seemed not to encourage him at all. 

“Try and tell me honestly that you can think of a better distraction and I’ll do it, but from where I’m standing, having an already internationally suspected troublemaker cause chaos right in the middle of Ministry itself seems like a good diversion. What else would anyone here expect if they knew I thought my brother was dying and you were trying to incarcerate me?”

He saw Limerine waver then, understanding what Newt was getting at, and the Magizoologist took the opportunity to duck down and hurry through his shed and into the rocky enclosure of the aviary. Newt took a steadying breath, thinking on his feet as oft best suited him and let out a low, long call. Silence. He tried again and saw a flicker of crimson and gold at the top of the cliff before attempting one final call, a second later he was enveloped in a screeching swathe of furious feathers. He didn’t fight him off or call out, merely stepped back, digging nails into the flesh of his palm as the Phoenix worked out his frustrations and an odd form of greeting. When it ended a minute or so later, he let out a shaky breath and looked levelly into onyx eyes.

“Are you quite finished?”

The Phoenix cawed, giving him one more cautionary bat with a wing before settling on Newt’s shoulder and rubbing his beak into Newt’s proffered palm. The Magizoologist smiled softly – for all that the Phoenix was stubborn and prideful he was actually quite affectionate when it came to Newt, and even trusting to anyone that Newt deemed trustworthy. It was an odd relationship; the Phoenix still often felt the need to remind Newt of his sentience whenever he seemed to think that the human had got too complacent with the bird’s good nature. Newt winced a bit at the favour he was about to ask but at the same time, he knew that having the Ministry lot distracted by his escape and away from Limerine and Theseus’ activities would be better for all involved. He knew that a large part of why Theseus was doing this was to protect him and if he was truly the focus of attention for those fractious members of the Ministry then this would work well as a distraction to get Tina, her son and Queenie away whilst not arousing suspicion toward Limerine. It may be new to him but thinking on his feet always seemed to end better than any long thought out plans he’d attempted in past – his instincts served him better than his intellect for the most part after all. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was the unfortunate task of Junior Auror Alania Milton to find the stunned unconscious body of her superior in his office after an almighty crash had echoed through the adjoining wall to the overcrowded office where she had been working overtime. She’d seen a number of her colleagues pacing the corridor over the past hour – ever since the younger brother of her head of department had entered Limerine’s office. They’d been the unfriendly, aloof sort that she’d tried her best to either ignore or ingratiate herself to in the three years she’d been there but with little success. She was Muggleborn and as much had been mostly overlooked, except, fortunately enough, by Head Auror Scamander himself – she’d been a part of the squad that had assisted him in Paris and after that, she’d started to earn a bit more respect. Or at least enough respect that she wasn’t openly glared at in the corridors and occasionally was even called by the correct name when her superiors addressed her.

Formalities and prejudices aside, they still listened to her when she came out of the adjoining office to knock upon the door of Limerine’s office, noting as she did so that the previous Aurors were assembled on the balcony across the way, visible but clearly working not to be noticed in the way in which all Aurors were trained. Alania got the feeling that Scamander junior had been the subject of their interest and was proven right when she nudged the door open to see Limerine unconscious with a nasty looking puncture wound on his neck and a battered leather case laying nearby. She swallowed, kneeling to place a tentative hand to Limerine’s pale neck, the side that wasn’t bloody, and breathed a sigh of relief when she found a pulse beating against her fingertips. Her eyes scanned over him and decided very quickly that the best idea would simply be to inform her superiors and get him to St Mungo's as soon as possible.

As she stood, however, Limerine began to stir, groaning slightly and her head snapped back to look at her superior as his eyes flickered but did not open, she paused, hoping that her voice might rouse him further so that he might instruct her on how to deal with the situation “A-are you alright, sir? What on earth happened?”

The man didn’t move any more, remaining apparently dead to the world. She bit her lip and turned again to get help. Alania got the fright of her life a moment later however when she heard the brief creak of leather and a polite voice say, “Terribly sorry about this.”

She spun around, almost toppling over as she drew her wand and tried to step in front of her felled boss to protect him from the scruffily dressed young man before her. She quickly recognised the sharp features, blue-green eyes and even the coppery-gold scruff of hair from the front cover of his book, the numerous copies that _Witch Weekly_ had plastered him on the cover of and also a little from his familial relation to her boss. The only thing that he didn’t closely resemble, however, was himself. Or at least how she had seen him in person last. The one time she’d seen Newt Scamander in the flesh, he hadn’t seemed to have all that much flesh left on him at all. He’d been chained, burnt, bruised, starved and flayed alive in that awful tent in Paris and she’d only caught brief glimpses of him in all the chaos and crowds and fighting. The man didn’t look so injured now – gaunt and pale, still certainly – but whole and surprisingly cheery considering the circumstances. He even reached out and righted her with a careful, calloused hand as she stumbled and offered her a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Alania jolted back, both out of uncertainty and concern for the shadows lingering in his blue-green gaze.

She raised her chin and straightened her spine a moment later however as she looked down at her fallen colleague and put two and two together very quickly, doing her best to appear strong and Auror’ly. “What did you do to him? What’s your purpose for assaulting a senior Auror?” 

Scamander looked a little chagrined and glanced down at the unconscious Limerine before back up to her, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully and shuffling on his feet a little, looking awkward but not quite as nervous as she might’ve expected. Maybe she wasn’t being intimidating enough, Alania raised her wand a little and his eyes flickered to it before back to somewhere around her forehead. Clearly not a fan of eye contact – well that made two of them she supposed.

“He’ll be alright, just let him sleep for a little bit and give him some tea when he wakes, and he’ll be up in a jiffy,” Scamander gestured toward a teapot on a tray by the wall before letting his gaze go over her one more time, eyes softening just a little before he spoke again, this time in a slower, more careful tone, “I suppose that because you aren’t yelling for your colleagues that you haven’t been told to arrest me on sight?”

Alania frowned at him, second-guessing the presence of the Aurors across the way now as Scamander stepped carefully around his suitcase so that it was now behind him. “Should I be doing that? I thought your brother looked out for you whenever you did something…against regulation.”

Scamander smiled a bit more genuinely then if, albeit sadly and with pity it seemed, “Well that answers that question, I suppose. I wouldn’t be doing any of this if Theseus was still around but needs must,” he fixed her with a firm, imploring look, “Do be careful with who you trust around here. I’d imagine this is a rough time to be an Auror.”

“Is that a threat?” Alania asked incredulously, raising her wand to properly point it at Scamander, he didn’t seem to notice and merely glanced back into the open mouth of his case which appeared conspicuously dark from her perspective.

“Not a threat. Just an observation,” he took another step, seemingly calculated, to the side, nodded to himself before looking back at her again with an apologetic smile, “You seem like you don’t quite belong here and before you say anything, that was most certainly meant as a compliment,” he cocked his head to the side before letting out a low, long whistle which hurt her ears before adding, “It might be to your benefit to duck to the left.”

“What-” Alania barely got out the word before there was a screech of red and gold, a snapping sound and then she was being forced to dive aside as Scamander had suggested. Something bright blurred past her and out of the door but she lost sight of it as she hit the floor, buffeted out of the way by large wings. Alania managed to disentangle herself from the carpet just in time to shuffle on her knees over to the open door to see Scamander’s tall, lanky form go plummeting over the edge of the nearest bannister. She stared open-mouthed in shock as the rogue Magizoologist was lifted into flight by the blur of red and gold which appeared to be some sort of swan-sized bird and then carried in a sharp swoop toward the ground floor and out of sight. She hauled herself up and threw her body over to collide with the bannister, barely feeling the gouge marks left upon its previously lacquered smooth surface, Alania spotted a haze of hexes and charms being thrown after the Magizoologist but was impressed with how swiftly and efficiently they were deflected. 

Dumbfounded, she turned back to stare through the office door at the slowly rousing form of her boss and the empty stretch of carpet where Scamander and his case had been mere moments before. Seeing her seniors rushing to the lifts and out of the vicinity, Alania decided to focus her attention upon her injured colleague instead – her nature had always been that of a carer than a fighter. That’s what her mother had always said of her anyway, and the Ministry had seemed like a good idea at the time she joined – being able to help people. The idea may be somewhat laughable three years later and still primarily on desk jobs, but she supposed that the money for her family was suitable enough compensation for the attitudes of her associates.

“Mr Limerine…um sir? Can you hear me, sir? Please wake up,” she tried to assist him in waking by leaning him up against the front of the desk, pointing her wand at his chest and muttering an incantation, “_Rennervate_.” His eyes opened slowly, blinked into focus and after a few moments he gasped a clasped one hand to his sluggishly bleeding neck and the other to his no doubt aching head. She offered him a kind smile and helped him to sit up a little more before speaking gently, “There we go, sir, now can you remember what happened?” She gestured to his neck, “What did this? Doesn’t look like a severing charm or any-”

“Scamander,” He rasped, eyes flicking about rapidly and she grimaced

“He got away I think, sir. Well, um, the others went after him, but he was…um riding some sort of creature…a bird, I think. Big and red and weird,” her brows furrowed. “Was it one of his creatures that did this to you? Have you been poisoned? Should I get-”

He hushed her with a wave of one hand and a strained smile, “It’s quite alright, Milton, I just need help standing up and something to drink.”

Alania bit her lip but complied and helped him up to sit in his desk chair with a little difficulty before looking about the room, noticing the still steaming pot of tea in the corner and beelining for it. She brought a cup of it back to him and he drank the stuff readily, looking hazy but more or less fine as she hovered by, uncertain and anxious. He finished the drink with a long sigh and rubbed a weary hand across his forehead before looking up at her.

“Thank you, Milton.”

“It’s fine, sir, but do you mind me asking what happened? I came in when I heard a disturbance and found you unconscious and Scamander was-…well, he was very…odd.”

Limerine smiled wryly but a little self-deprecatingly, “Seemed perfectly normal for him, I’d imagine. Little bugger took me by surprise with one of his bloody creatures. I think he got wind that I was stalling him so that more Aurors could get here.”

Alania nodded as if she understood but he clearly saw her confusion and elaborated, “He’s our best bet of getting to Grindelwald and up until now his damn brother had been getting in the way of us doing anything about it. Head Auror Scamander suffered greatly in a raid earlier tonight, and Newt came here looking for answers. We weren’t going to pass up an opportunity to pin him down,” He chuckled darkly. “Should’ve expected he’d have his case of monsters with him. But he’d disillusioned it you see, so it caught me off guard. I must be getting careless in my old age.”

Alania was about to console him and tell him exactly what she thought of his age when a cold voice cut across the room and she spun about to see a cluster of three of her superiors at the door.

“Perhaps another reason why you should retire.”

The speaker, Finnis Fawley – son of the Minister and an admittedly handsome, if thin-faced man, looked highly displeased and was sporting a bleeding lip as well as a large red mark at his neat hairline. Evidently, catching Scamander has been an unsuccessful venture. 

Limerine fixed Fawley with a hard stare, unfathomable to Alania but apparently significant between both men as he replied evenly, “I’m not so old that I would push myself into early retirement simply because of one slip-up, Auror Fawley. Maintaining order and taking Grindelwald down remain our key priorities, and I trust few others to take over operations now that Scamander is out of the picture.”

“To which one are you referring? The Scamander who got himself half-killed and hospitalised, or his younger brother who just made a fool of you and escaped?” Fawley was clearly sore on the subject of the Scamander brothers, and after reading about the whole Leta Lestrange debacle and her and Fawley’s engagement, Alania could understand why. She felt very much out of her depth then, and her eyes flickered to the door, wondering if she could slip past the three Aurors blocking it without raising too much attention. She doubted it.

“I’m not the only one he made a fool of, Fawley. There were, what…a dozen of you spread out across the building, and not one of you was able to catch him? I’m starting to question whether Head Auror Scamander organised any training or supervision for you at all. Another reason that I believe this department will benefit from new leadership. And as his second, it falls to me to organise recovering Newt Scamander so that we can get the damn information his brother held back for so long.”

Fawley and his companions looked surprised by the words, almost suspicious but at the same time, they looked to be upon the cusp of some great realisation that Alania neither understood nor felt she wanted to. One of the Aurors to Fawley’s left, one that Alania didn’t know, gestured toward Limerine’s still bloody neck and spoke gruffly, “Might want to get that looked at, sir. Merlin knows what bloody beasts Scamander’s got in his case, or what that wound might do to you.”

Limerine nodded and stood a little shakily, gesturing for Alania to follow, which she hurried to do as the senior Aurors parted to let both of them through. She felt their stares on them as they headed toward the lift, but Limerine gently placed a hand on her shoulder and she relaxed a jot. As they stepped into the lift however, Limerine sagged a little more and Alania got the feeling that she was acting more as a support for her boss than he was comforting her. He just hadn’t wanted to appear weak in front of the jackal-like pack of Aurors.

He sighed and said, “Don’t pay them any mind, petty bloody fools the lot of them.”

Her lips parted in surprise before she nodded quickly, bobbing her head and staring down at her sensible T-strap shoes for wont of anything better to do. “Did Scamander say anything to you before he escaped?”

She flinched and looked up at him abruptly, watching the floor click further down on the lift measure as she tried to remember.

“Uh yes, not much…he told me to be careful who I trusted…and told me to duck left…”

“Sound advice,” Limerine said thoughtfully before giving her a sharp look. “Nothing else?”

“Not that I thought was important, sir. He seemed surprised that I didn’t try to arrest him on the spot…was I supposed to? I mean, no one told me that he was on the list and-”

“It’s fine, Milton. He wasn’t on the list because up until now he hasn’t been an official threat,” he gave her a long, searching look before asking in a low tone, “You’re Muggleborn aren’t you?”

She flushed a little but raised her chin and nodded firmly, refusing to be cowed or embarrassed by her heritage as so many had tried to make her feel beforehand, Limerine noted this clearly and nodded thoughtfully.

“It wasn’t a dig, Milton, I just think that it’s time that this department opened up some opportunities for people of a…broader mindset.”

Alania blinked in shock and Limerine smiled encouragingly at her, “I want your utmost confidentiality on this matter, but you will be acting as my second in the hunt for Scamander from this moment onward.”

“Sir, I don’t know what to say, I-” Limerine waved off her blustering and fixed her with a firm gaze again, that one that he had done so many times during her earlier training that made her feel both scared and somehow more sure of herself at the same time.

“I trust you to do a more…just job than your colleagues. I’m giving you a chance to prove yourself.” 

“I appreciate it, sir, but…”

“What is it, Milton?”

Her brows burrowed further and side-glanced at him to gauge the honesty of his response “Why do you think Scamander would know anything about Grindelwald? Or that he’d be any help in capturing him? He’s not a known follower and aside from their meetings in New York and Paris, I can’t imagine that they’d have much opportunity to cross paths.” She pursed her lips before adding cautiously “He’s weird but he doesn’t seem the sort to get involved with a man like that’s plans by choice.”

Limerine’s expression was inscrutable and he subtly flicked his wand to the doors which suddenly refused to open, nor did the lift descend further and Alania looked at him askance. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to question-”

“Questioning a suspicious situation is exactly what you should do, Milton. It's often unwise to blindly follow orders without the full story even if that’s what you’re encouraged to do.”

“So what is the full story, sir?”

“Right now, it’s not entirely necessary as I have not yet asked anything of you but there will soon come a time where I will ask things of you that might challenge the instructions that my colleagues may give you. I merely ask that consider your position carefully before doing anything – whether you are inclined toward the moralistic route or toward the larger scope of things that attempts to justify casual cruelty to innocents for a grander cause.”

“Is this ‘larger scope’ just another way of saying ‘greater good’ because if it is then I want no part in it.” Alania felt suspicion creep up in her at the specific wording and eyed her companion with new concern, steeling her gaze he noted this and shook his head slightly.

“I do not refer to Grindelwald’s fanatical crusade but nor am I referring to the perceived ‘grander cause’ as being my intention. Should you choose to assist me it would be in the moral route alone.” He chuckled a little bitterly “Though what you consider moral, of course, is up to you but I shall say no more on the matter.”

The lift started moving again and clunked to a stop moments later, the doors opening and Limerine plastered a believable expression of mild exasperation upon his lined face “Damn lifts are so unreliable, can’t see why we can’t get the budget for better ones like the MACUSA lot did, ah well.”

He left the lift and looked back at her in a clear signal to follow which she did with quick scurrying motions as he headed across the atrium and to one of the Floo-accessible fireplaces, he took a handful for himself and gave second to her. He went first, intoning “St Mungos Hospital” clearly. She followed suit and soon found herself standing by him in the private wing of St Mungos, the area that was set aside either for well-paying clients or the Ministry officials. Alania tuned out for the check-in period, merely mumbling a few affirmatives to the nurses that asked her if she knew what her senior told them to be true – which she did. She then waited outside of the room the healers escorted him into, trusting her boss’ care to the professionals and sitting down in fidgety silence.

The ward was relatively quiet at this time of night and this level of privacy so when a door down the hall opened, she was quick to look up, out of reflex and simple curiosity of who else was in the private sector. The nurse that left was blonde, bland and utterly forgettable and Alania’s notice slid over her like water off duck’s feathers, instead focussing on the glimpse of gingery-blonde hair and sharp features that she spotted through the closing door. Alania was on her feet in seconds, approaching the door and slipping through it before any of the other nurses noticed. Despite her suspicions from the fleeting glimpse she’d seen, the man in the hospital bed was no Newt Scamander, it was his brother – her boss, and he looked bloody awful. Part of his face and the visible skin if his arms that lay upon the white sheets was bruised almost black, lines of red veining the discolouration grotesquely and distorting the features almost to an unrecognisable level until it reached just above his jaw. Alania had no idea what type of dark magic could’ve caused such wounds, and, in all honesty, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. It was alarming and disturbing to see her superior – an accomplished Auror, a war hero and an altogether good (if intimidating at times) man laid so low. He didn’t look in pain at least, he looked dead to the world but not in pain. That was something she supposed. 

She was startled a moment or two later when the door was abruptly pushed open and an older man entered, wearing the clean white robes of the hospital staff and a gruff expression below thick silver-threaded facial hair and stern grey eyes. “Excuse me, but you can’t be in here.”

“Oh, uh, sorry, I just thought-”

“You’re one of the Ministry lot, aren’t you?” He asked, cutting her off suddenly and she nodded hurriedly.

“Junior Auror Alania Milton, sir, sorry for the interruption, I’ll just be leaving.”

“See that you do. Your superior is in good hands, Miss Milton, I’d advise you get back to Mr Limerine, he’s waiting outside.”

“He’s alright then, not poisoned or anything?” She asked, moving to follow the doctor out, brows furrowing, and he shook his head.

“If there were any toxins in him then they’re gone now. Must’ve been lucky. Seems to just have been a shock and stunner.”

“But there was a mark on his neck and-”

“Must’ve not been venomous then, whatever did it.” he repeated firmly, shutting the door behind them and regarding her sternly. She opened her mouth to argue before letting her eyes slide back to the door behind the doctor.

“Is he going to be alright? I mean, what happened, looks pretty nasty.”

“There’s no telling if or when he’ll recover. For now, we’re keeping him under heavy sedation. It’s unlikely that Auror Scamander will be conscious again for some time.”

“Oh.” Alania murmured “Is he not allowed visitors then?”

The doctor shook his head briskly “No, it will only interfere with the healing magic in the ward.”

She frowned “What about his fiancé? The American Auror that is?”

The doctor’s expression softened a little “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Shouldn’t she be told?” Alania pressed, concerned for the woman she only knew by rumour and reputation – that reputation being an impressive Auror career and return to MACUSA even after her demotion and rising success to become part of Director Percival Graves’ personal circle until she left mere weeks before. She was more than willing to seek out her idol to inform her if it meant that she’d do a sort of justice for both her boss and the impressive female Auror.

The doctor regarded her oddly and she quailed a bit but then returned his gaze challengingly and he sighed “I’ll make sure the proper arrangements are made. Now I think you should get back to work, Auror Milton. I hope not to see you in here again.”

“I’m sorry?” She asked, slightly affronted by the abrupt dismissal and the doctor rolled his eyes

“There are enough reckless idiots out there already without you adding to it.”

He strode off then, chart in hand and leaving Alania confused until she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Limerine watching after the doctor with apparent bemusement. “Don’t take it personally, some people never manage to develop a bedside manner.” 

Alania felt inclined to agree. 


	9. Return to New York

**“I don’t know where to begin, there’s too many things that I can’t remember as I disappeared like a trend, in the hum of the five in the early morning and now I'm taking my time…**

**…How can I stay in the sun when the rain flows all through my veins?**

**It's true**

**And I guess it's not a failure we could help**

**And we will both go on to get lonely with someone else**

**With someone else.” – ‘No room in frame’ – Death Cab for Cutie**

Rolling green-brown fields, most only tipped with patches of dying yellow grass where the crops had wilted away under the unyielding sun, others interspersed with grazing animals. None of which, thankfully, contained any errant beasts of a more magical variety. Not this time at least. The clouds were the off grey-white of freshly fallen rain, fringed fleetingly with a deep purplish hue that promised more soon – very soon if the metallic scent charging the air was any gauge. Newt had found himself hating rain. For as much as the cool cascade was a welcome relief from the scorching heat of his recent travels, the smell brought back memories – traces – of darker times best left overlooked. Times when the water ran over his head and consumed him in a very different way. Body and soul.

September in Arizona was not a common travel destination and as such, Newt was in the desirable position for his newfound and long-found temperaments that he hadn’t seen a single human in the week he had been there thus far. American soil was something that he had been actively trying to avoid since the incident in New York but less so now that his faded consciousness had returned. However, after the elongated journey he had ended up taking to the States – involving no less than three modes of magical and non-magical travel – he found himself reluctant all of a sudden to make that last push to New York itself. He had found his return fortunately or perhaps strategically delayed for the sake of an old friend in the form of Frank as he was apparently being hunted yet again and chased from the area where one of Newt’s colleagues had confirmed that the Thunderbird had settled.

The desert rain was a direct result of his old friend’s presence, that much was obvious as the villages that Newt had passed through on the way had been surprised though pleased by the abrupt change from the muggy heat of the usual weather. He had set up a makeshift camp by the lake as a temporary shelter for his case as despite it being warded heavily, even his extensive charm work had begun to wear the leather over time.

The draped tarp was propped up over the trees by the lakeside and with the proper insect wards set up, it was peaceful enough a place for Newt to use as a base to search from as any. Though, despite his activities, he got the feeling that he was more likely to find the Thunderbird by simply waiting for Frank to come to him. The main reason he kept busy was so that his mind and body would be tired enough to rest when night came again. Isabella Voltaire, his associate who had informed him of the Thunderbird’s plight, had offered him shelter in the cabin in which she dwelt several miles north of where he was now, but Newt had politely declined. Both out of a desire to search alone and also because he never knew how to gauge her intentions; Isabella was a friendly, brusque and objectively pretty young woman, but one who had always been a shade too secretive for Newt’s taste. Though it may have sounded rather hypocritical to say as he himself kept more secrets from others than anyone he could care to think of, he was still wary of his less close acquaintances, as, in his line of work that wasn’t strictly within legal parameters most of the time, he had to be careful. Especially after Berlin.

Oddly enough, he thought that his suspicions may well have paid off better than usual as when crossing the US apparation borders, he had been met with a surprising amount of resistance that had required rather inventive spellwork and hasty cross country apparation to avoid. A pair of stationed Aurors was not an uncommon sight surrounding internationally sanctioned apparation points, but Newt had got the distinct feeling that a person or _several_ persons were keeping an eye on him as he had been met with a group of no less than seven. He had rather hoped that The British Ministry would have been the only officials looking for him after his stunt several months before, but the humiliated members had apparently expanded their warrant internationally. Bloody inconvenient of them to do so.

The magizoologist had been distinctly grateful to Percival Graves and his brother when they had worked their individual influences together in order to have his travel ban repealed before all this happened though he most certainly hadn’t appreciated their attempts to keep such close tabs on him afterwards. At first, he hadn’t actively attempted to avoid the Ministries’ influences and had accepted that after all that had occurred, he did warrant watching -- but when it had got to the stage where every step of his journeys was hounded by the presence of a half dozen or more Aurors, he had put his foot down on the matter. And promptly disappeared off their Ministerial radars as best he could.

The past year had been difficult after reaching the realisation that he could no longer keep in contact with even the few friends he had left as it prompted unwanted attention that could get all of them caught. He had been forced to strike out on his own once more – sadly remembering Queenie’s fond words, telling him that he needed stability of some sort and that they were willing to offer it. That had been before they all went into hiding and he was on the run as a scapegoat to distract the British Ministry from his family’s vanishing act. 

During his extensive travels since, he had been avoiding apparation or magical forms of travel as much as he was able so as to reduce his magical signature, which he knew several people would most likely be able to trace should they look for it. As much as his travels had been almost as interesting, dangerous and intellectually stimulating as they had been so many years before, Newt could not deny that there had been a number of unwelcome differences that, try as he might, made the sudden lull in his activity now…unbearable. He had been forced for the first time in months to properly reflect upon his current situation as he waited for over a week, sedentary in his little encampment with very little going on outside of watching the skies for the tell-tale change in weather that would signal Frank’s arrival. Newt found himself reflecting upon all that had happened since the memories of one Percival Graves had been taken from him along with the presence of one of the most contradictorily comforting and disturbing aspects of his recent life - the Blood pact.

For a long time after its removal, he had felt empty, hollow and confused as to why there was part of him that missed the presence of others within his head, there to advise with blunt honesty or calm where needed. He knew that he was better off without two men and a living amalgamation of a blood-bond dwelling within him but at the same time, he was not fond – for perhaps the first time in his life – of the isolation that followed. It made him feel more than ever, as if he was truly alone – missing something important that he still, after all this time, couldn’t quite put his finger on. Even as most of his memories of Percival returned, he knew that the most key ones still resided just out of reach and no amount of scouring through his letters and pictures and memories was triggering anything new. It was infuriating.

Newt stood from where he had been crouched by the waterside as he heard the call of a bird from nearby and looked up at the darkening sky with hopeful, weary eyes only to spot a rogue Fwooper who had apparently escaped the confines of the case: something that had been happening with worrying frequency. He sighed and let out a short, sharp, squawking call of his own to entice the bird back towards him before the brightly coloured creature could blow his cover by passing the wardings he had set up around his camp. Newt frowned however as he realised that his wards now had a significant gap in them about the rear area of the encampment – the rocky outcrop that backed it clearly disrupted by fallen debris and trampled grass. Someone else was here and they hadn’t been particularly subtle about their entrance by the looks of it, Newt took a deep breath and drew his wand, ducking into the nearest rocky outcrop before examining the area surrounding his case with careful eyes and a subtle incantation on his lips. The ground glowed gold around several sets of tracks but the magizoologist disregarded those which were made by hoof, paw or claw and instead focused upon those that were clearly made by shoes that weren’t his own worn boots. There were three other pairs.

Bugger.

Newt looked about, casting as subtly as he was able as he did so, trying to reveal any concealed individuals and almost laughing as he saw a man standing a mere ten feet away look utterly stunned, lips parted in a near-perfect ‘o’ of surprise before Newt sent a carefully controlled gust of wind towards him. The fair-haired, robed man was sent back into the lake with a splash and Newt quickly turned his attention to a further three figures who chose that time to reveal themselves from under disillusionment charms as they saw their companion had been discovered. Newt cast up a shield to deflect the disarming spells and was only slightly relieved to notice that none of these newcomers seemed to be aiming to harm him – merely to neutralize his threat to them. Newt of all people knew that being captured instead of killed wasn’t always a better outcome. He wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted these men to be from the Ministry, Grindelwald or just some lucked out poachers, but it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t interested in meeting with any of the above so continued to deflect, hex and stun at every opportunity he could get.

Unfortunately, Newt was a tad out of practice and his opponents seemed rather proficient in duelling, even the one he’d flung into the lake had now re-emerged and joined in the assault, in the fair-haired man’s apparent irritation, he got a bit overzealous it seemed as he attempted to collapse the cliff above Newt on top of him. The Brit cursed low under his breath and apparated out of his place of shelter, eyeing his case in the moment before he moved and dove to scoop it up before apparating again. It seemed that these men had been waiting for exactly that to happen as Newt only realised in a belated shock of the spells that stuck his boots fast to the ground a mere foot from his case, just out of arm’s length and he was jerked to an invisible halt mid-apparation by a web of spells that had likely been the work of his opponents whilst they were disillusioned. They hadn’t just been trying to get the drop on him as he had suspected but had been setting up spells to prevent his escape – people who were aware of his distaste for confrontation then and knew that getting his case and leaving would be his first priority. He hissed in discomfort and surprise when a stinging jinx hit the back of his hand and he released his wand hastily, shaking out the stinging, welted appendage and sending a reproachful glare at the fair-haired man who was now drying off his soaking hair and clothes with his wand.

“That wasn’t necessary, Bastian and you know it.” The accent was decidedly American – Texan if he wasn’t mistaken and the southern drawl threw him off slightly as he recognized the tone immediately. The speaker had grown a few days’ worth of stubble dotting his jaw since he had last seen him – groomed and in evening wear - and he was sending the other blonde man a weary look as he stepped forward, collecting Newt’s wand and holding it in a loose grip before offering Newt an equally weary, thin smile. The smile held a warning that he couldn’t quite place until the American shook his head ever so slightly and spoke it a deliberately business-like tone.

“Sorry about that, Mr Scamander, we’re all pretty damn beat after chasing you up the length and breadth of the state so _some_ of us may be feeling a bit on the cranky side.” Jared Harkaway sent another reproving look at the blonde and skated his sharp green gaze about the camp and surrounding area before looking back to where Newt stood, still and rather off-footed. The Magizoologist sensed that he was meant to play along with the man’s pretence for anonymity between the two of them and decided that it couldn’t hurt to do so – at least for now.

“Terribly sorry to be such an inconvenience to you.” Newt replied dryly, eying his case and judging the likelihood of being able to summon his wand and case as well as releasing himself before any of the men caught him again. Doubtful, he decided, as three more figures apparated in to join the four already present. Harkaway let out a dry laugh and his expression turned wry before he reached down to pick up Newt’s case, much to the tension and barely repressed anger of the Magizoologist as his gaze sharpened and narrowed. Harkaway seemed to note this and when he spoke again, his voice was not unkind.

“We ain’t here to impound your case or arrest you, Scamander. Your creatures won’t be hurt and I wouldn’t’ve taken your case or wand if I thought you would’ve agreed to come with us otherwise, but as it is, we do need you to come in and answer some questions bout Credence Barebone.”

“Credence? What about him?” Newt asked, off-footed further, his worries for his creatures assuaged only a little, but piqued further by the mention of the Obscurial whom he had not set eyes upon in over a year. “Has something happened?”

“I think it’d be best if you came back with us to MACUSA so that you’re brought up to speed as it were.”

“MACUSA? Thought I was more of a European problem at the moment or has that changed?” Newt ventured, unsure if it felt like a relief or not and Harkaway nodded, looking a tad abashed – an odd look on an Auror. Especially one as generally cocky as him.

“Yes, apologies for not making introductions sooner. Names Jared Harkaway, I don’t know if Goldstein or Graves might’ve mentioned me, but I run the day to day operations when the Director is busy elsewhere. Heard a fair bit about you both through international reputation and a fair few glowing reports of your book. Not to mention the Queenie Goldstein’s Morgana-damned unavoidable gossip back when she still worked with us.” He chuckled a bit before waving his wand at Newt’s feet which became unstuck though the Brit remained where he was in indecision – half wanting to follow his initial plan and just grab for his case and wand and leave but his concern for Credence and his odd half-trust of Harkaway staying his twitchy muscles. 

Harkaway seemed to notice his hesitancy and his expression softened further before he handed Newt back his case with a gauging, alert look, the younger took it with a steady grip, eying the other suspiciously before deciding that the man seemed honest enough for the time being at least. “We’re ain’t here to hurt you or your creatures.” The familiar wording had Newt a little more at ease even before the Texan continued “All we want is for you to be aware of the situation with the Obscurial and then if you don’t wanna stick in New York, then no one’s gonna stop you. Graves would’ve been here, but we were investigating about a half-dozen places we thought you might be, and the department is spread thin as it is with all the Grindelwald shit going on. We just want any help you can give us, and the Director seemed to think you would have a better idea of how to find Credence than anyone.” 

“I was here for a reason, you know, I can’t exactly go and abandon-” Newt was cut off as Harkaway shook his head, looking a touch uncomfortable again as he explained

“The Thunderbird was never in any danger, just fed that little titbit to your friend to get you round here and then meddled a bit with the weather to stay you. Thought it’d be easier than continuing this wild goose chase. You’ve a bit of a reputation for dodging authorities after all.”

Newt was silent for a few moments before he slowly nodded, accepting the excuse as likely being true – the weather actually explainable by charms employed to keep Newt in the area. It irked him some though to think that Percival Graves had likely contributed his knowledge of Newt’s friends and creatures to create the trap but at the same time was somewhat relieved that they hadn’t stooped to actually hurting or confining any of Newt’s friends.

Warily eying every Auror present, Newt gripped his case tight in a scarred grip, still wary of the one who’s stung him as the man’s annoyed stare bored into him. “Very well, lead the way, Mr Harkaway.” He tried to keep his tone smooth and apathetic despite the disquiet roiling within him and he noticed the Aurors about him lowering their wands, though keeping them drawn still and Harkaway seemed to relax too. 

“Thank You, Scamander, I’ll give ya your wand once you’ve listened to what we got to say.” He looked drained then, weary brows creasing further as he started up the slope towards where the other Aurors had gathered on open ground to apparate together.

Newt couldn’t help but notice the way Harkaway’s non-wand arm was hanging at his side, not quite limp but certainly stiff looking and winced at the memory of how the injury had been obtained, letting the man’s sacrifices harden his trust in the man a little. Newt followed a pace or so behind, waving a hand at the remnants of his camp to collapse themselves and opening his case for them to return to. All of this was accomplished with a few waves of his free hand and the latches snapped back shut within a matter of moments and after casting another revealing charm over the scattered Aurors to check their authenticity he nodded to himself with a sense of Newt having made his point quite well. He wasn’t helpless without his wand and now the Aurors knew it. “Not half bad.” Harkaway looked rather bemusedly impressed at the wandless display and nodded as Newt shrugged modestly, not saying anything; not needing to.

“You three, back to your posts,” Harkaway ordered and the Aurors in question disappeared in a series of cracks, leaving the remaining three with the senior Auror and Newt. “Ready?” Newt nodded and took the proffered forearm stiffly, releasing him the moment the swirl of sickening colour and crushing tube sensation was over. He looked around to see the familiarly grand appearance of the main atrium of the Woolworth building only to find that there was a significant section of the roof missing, currently in the process of being repaired but clearly going mostly disregarded by the bustle of robed and suited figures below it. His head reeled a little from the incredibly long-distance apparation – having expected to do the several hundred-mile journey in instalments and realising that the Senior Auror was more powerful and proficient with his apparation than most. He should’ve guessed as much from their last encounter, but it was still a surprise to witness such skill first-hand. Newt kept his gaze down as he was led through the hall over to the elevators, briefly nodding a greeting to the Goblin who was manning them before they began going up, directed by Harkaway to go to the thirteenth floor. Newt was surprised as he had honestly been expecting to be taken to the interrogation rooms in the lower levels as he had the last time he had been in the building but didn’t question the change as he was led out into the gold-gilt and black runnered corridors towards an ornate door towards the end of the corridor.

The other three Aurors finally dispersed at the door and Harkaway didn’t spare a moment before knocking on the door with firm, fleeting knuckles before brushing inside, the office – for that was clearly what it was – was neat, extravagant and leather furnished with a large dark wood desk taking up the central space. Memos flitted through in after them and settled themselves in a tray upon the desk but no one currently sat behind it as the room was devoid of its occupant, whose identity became very quickly clear to Newt as his nostrils were assailed by the strong scents of Pine, Fire-Whiskey and citrus. He felt a tight knot form in his stomach – both at the similar circumstances to how he had last been in a Ministry building but more importantly, in anticipation of the impending meeting that he had been simultaneously dreading and yearning for for months.

Harkaway tutted slightly at the room’s emptiness and gestured Newt towards the chair on the closest side of the desk in which he sat with some trepidation, perching upon the edge and keeping his posture tense as he glanced about. “Just wait right here, I’m sure that Graves’y will be back soon, I signalled him as soon as we found your camp and I’d wager he’s keen to see ya,” Harkaway told him, his demeanour suddenly more familiar now that they were out of earshot of his colleagues and Newt nodded mutely, offering a weak smile to the other as he left the room, pausing for a moment before closing the door and assuring him. “I ain’t gonna go far with your wand, Scamander, just need to report in,” he paused again. “Go easy on ’im, will ya?” 

“Of course,” Newt murmured just as the door shut with a click, leaving him alone in the office, his case still clutched close and protectively in his lap. The smell was distracting, he decided quickly, rubbing his sleeve a little over his nose to help disrupt the memories that came with it with the smell of singed cloth and herbs. He had not seen Percival Graves in a longer time than anyone else; he had written to him a few times – not that he’d sent any of the letters, however, too cautious to do much more than scrawl his thoughts messily upon parchment and sketch his memories into the tell-tale high-quality leather-bound sketchpad that didn’t remember purchasing.

Newt was seeking out the last remnants of stolen memories out of a need to bring back what Grindelwald had taken. Bit by bit. But it had been too difficult. The letters had been…awkward – even for him – as he was unsure how to phrase, how to explain what he had recalled and what he hadn’t and how it all made him feel. It had been an attempt to prepare himself but also to delay the inevitable and now, sitting and swimming in that familiar scent…Newt felt completely adrift from any sense of release the writings and drawings had given him in the months prior. He found himself immeasurably flustered and wrongfooted at the memories of the man with his intense eyes, almost irresistible charm, striking good looks and uncanny knowledge of Newt’ life and habits. Or at least, the one whose office he currently sat in…the other one was an affair too complicated to even mention.

There was another thing that bothered him, however – despite all of his family and friends and thoughts corroborating the idea that he had been romantically involved with Graves…Newt couldn’t quite see how that would’ve ever happened in the first place. It wasn’t that he didn’t consider Graves attractive, kind and very engaging despite his sternness and a lingering air of sorrow that clung to his recovered recollections, but Newt couldn’t quite picture the series of events that they had all laid out for him. There were still significant holes in his memory and he knew that the truth he was being told _should _fill it and in a way it did, but there was too much uncertainty and pain in his life already without adding on the thought that he was causing someone, who was apparently very close to him, pain. He’d cut off the contact poorly with Graves the last time they had spoken in person and now faced with the opportunity to see Percival again, he decided that he would take it to at least apologize for how he had left things one Christmas day of the previous year. With Graves standing, miserable and bewildered-looking in Theseus’ living room and Newt heading for the hills – the Scandinavian mountains specifically – and a very perplexed feeling weighing on the Magizoologist’s own heart. It hadn’t been fair on Graves. Not really. Newt could tell that Percival cared deeply for him even if he couldn’t entirely remember how those feelings came to be or stay – he had been trying to jog Newt’s memories of him, but for him, it had just been strange. 

Newt stood hastily, jolted from his reverie when the office door opened and closed firmly behind him, he heard two decisive steps upon the hardwood floor before they faltered just as Newt turned to face the entrant. Newt witnessed the transformation of Percival’ blank, stern, exhausted expression to one of contrasting relief, grief, shock, realisation and a number of other things that the younger man couldn’t begin to name. It all happened within the span of perhaps three seconds before the blankness returned in a forced-looking mask and Graves offered him a grim, tight nod and thinning of his lips that Newt supposed was meant to be a smile. It looked brittle at best. It hurt to look at. His face was almost shimmering with the tension it evidently held. 

“Director Graves.” Newt mumbled, awkwardly greeting him with stale formality merely to fill the uncomfortable silence as Graves moved around the table to sit in the chair opposite and gestured brusquely for Newt for to do the same which he did after a few moments.

“Mr Scamander.” The response was clipped, professional. 

“Newt, please.” He corrected out of habit, as he had done many times before – disliking the formality and associations of his family name for more reasons than he could count.

“Newt.” Mahogany eyes softened just slightly as he steepled his fingers on the desk before him, attire as smart and well-pressed as always but the same clear exhaustion residing in his haggard face and tone as it had Harkaway. Though perhaps, also, a deeper one. Newt tried to tell himself that it was likely a direct result of overworking in the face of Grindelwald’s continued cause but there was a niggling doubt that picked up on how Graves looked somewhat haunted as he regarded Newt across the table.

“I’m not sure how much Harkaway told you of the situation but I’m sure you noticed the damage caused on your entry into the building.”

“Yes.” Newt nodded, shifting his case to sit in between his knees but still keeping a grip on the handle. “Credence’s work? I had thought he had been doing better.”

Graves’ dark brows rose slightly “You haven’t been in contact with him then? You haven’t seen him or happen to know anything about his outburst, return or subsequent disappearance?”

“No, what makes you think that I would know any more than you?”

“He trusted you and you have a long history of releasing beings from captivity – benevolent or not – that you saw as being detained wrongly.”

“Am I being accused now, Mr Graves?” Newt asked stiffly though with a trace of wry humour lacing that scepticism. He understood where the suspicion came from even if he somewhat resented the thought process that Graves must’ve gone through to get to the conclusion. 

Graves sighed “No, Newt, that’s not what why we asked you here.”

“Asked is a rather polite way of putting it,” Newt commented airily, glancing a little pointedly down at his stung hand and thinking of his absent wand. Percival’s eyes slid down to the minor injury too and narrowed almost imperceptibly, jaw tightening and one hand scrawling a quick note on a nearby pad of paper before tucking it away in his pocket. “I couldn’t help but notice that you have been using your _intimate_ knowledge of my habits to your advantage – giving your Aurors ideas on just what they could use to get me to cooperate.”

Graves’ face crumpled a little then, almost flinching in response and exhaling carefully before responding in a measured tone. “I’m sorry but I didn’t really see any other way of getting you to consult on this – you must admit you have quite the habit of hightailing it the moment you come into contact with authorities.” He exhaled again but this time it was more wryly humoured. “Though not without good cause.”

Newt let a trace of a smile twitch his lips as he looked up at Graves through his fringe “‘Good cause’, eh? I doubt many of your colleagues or British counterparts would look at it that way.”

“You’d perhaps be surprised how many admirers you’ve earned with your writing and work. Harkaway, in particular, is an avid reader – I imagine he’d probably be interested in getting an autograph, not that he’d admit it. Quite enamoured after your meeting in Berlin it seems.” Newt could’ve been wrong, but he could swear he heard a trace of jealousy in the American’s tone but did not comment upon it, merely repressed the smallest of smiles, guilty though it undoubtedly was. Newt laughed and it cracked a little but was genuine, easing a little of the room’s palpable tension as Graves mirrored it with his own dry chuckle after an uncomfortable beat.

“He seems a decent enough sort – for an Auror.” Graves’ smile faltered and Newt felt a touch guilty, even if his opinion on Aurors was no different than it once had been, he still didn’t usually venture it towards those members of the Ministries who had become his friends. Though what Graves was to him now, he wasn’t sure.

Graves coughed then, drawing Newt’s attention back from where it had habitually dropped to examine the grain of the dark wood desk and the professional air returned to Graves’ voice as he spoke. “Your opinions on Aurors aside, we would still value your opinion on how to handle the situation,” he paused, seeking out direct eye contact which Newt gave after a pause, hesitantly. “_I_ would value it very much.”

Newt dropped his gaze to the other’s shoulder again “I really don’t know what I could tell you – as I said, I haven’t seen him in over a year and the last letter I sent him went unanswered. I supposed that he was busy with his training with Dumbledore but that was some time ago now. Tina would likely be a better bet of getting him back – is she not available?”

“She’s off the grid entirely. No one has been able to contact her as you likely well know.” He fixed Newt with a momentarily knowing look that Newt ignored, and Graves sighed resignedly before continuing “Credence was here, being escorted to the wand registration when something apparently set him off. He’d been doing well, well enough to get to that stage in the first place and even when Tina left work, she was still sending letters – apparently, Theseus didn’t want her near the Obscurus in her state.” Newt nodded, understanding the concern and feeling a warm sense of pride that the Obscurial had been doing so well up until that point but also feeling more trepidation as to the severity of what had triggered him so badly that he’d jeopardise his chance at properly joining the magical community. It had been his dream after all.

Graves continued with a mildly pained expression “He demolished the roof and vanished, we managed to track him for a few blocks before he reverted to human form and seemingly vanished. This happened about a month and a half ago and we’ve been splitting our efforts between obliviating the No-Maj witnesses, searching out Credence and then you, when we had no luck.” He sighed out a weary breath as he caught Newt’s eye as best he could with Newt deliberately avoiding it. “We thought he might’ve had outside help – planned or not. I’m concerned that he might be in danger from a mutually recognised threat.”

Newt kept his gaze and tone as firm as he could as he studied the other’s shoulder steadily, voicing what the other was clearly hesitant to say even if the implication was still clearly there. Something hard and heavy lodged itself in his throat however as he spoke the words. “You think Grindelwald is responsible.” 

“Yes, yes I do and if there’s anything you could do to confirm or deny that fact then it would be-” Newt cut him off, standing abruptly, tension running through his lithe form like a current of electricity, grip tight on his case as Graves, too, went to stand.

“No, I’m sorry, Mr Graves, but I can’t help you.” 

“Can’t or won’t?”

Newt paused with his hand on the door handle, pausing and looking back in affront, though also with a trace more guilt licking at him. “I’m sorry?”

Graves moved around his desk to stand just behind where Newt had been sitting, only two paces from where he stood now and Newt flushed a little awkwardly, ducking his gaze as he turned halfway back to face him though not releasing the door handle or his case. “I mean, Newt, that there are very few individuals in the world who could successfully track an Obscurus who doesn’t want to be found and even fewer who might be able to convince him to return. And you most certainly are the only one who also can claim to know anything significant of the man I fear is responsible for Credence’s disappearance. He’s in danger, Newt, and I know you want to help him if you can. Please don’t let your feelings concerning myself prevent you from helping us find him before it is too late.”

Newt pursed his lips, unsure and regarding his own booted feet as the conflict squirmed within him, reluctant to be near this version of Percival – one who seemed more interested in using him just as the British Ministry did – as an insight into Grindelwald and a way to get what they wanted. Perhaps he had successfully destroyed what had existed between them by delaying as long as he did – the thought made him anxious to leave, feeling as though his skin was too tight about him, hot, trapping and suffocating. “Are you sure its Grindelwald? I mean-”

Graves cut him off patiently, not harshly but with a firm yet resigned seeming tone – earnest even “Newt, don’t kid yourself – you know better than anyone that that bastard is capable of either manipulating or forcing people to do anything he wants and Grindelwald has been after Credence for years now. Do you honestly think I would go to these lengths to seek out your help after our last encounter and after your…history with Grindelwald if I didn’t think it was necessary? I won’t make this personal any more than it needs to be if you don’t want that and you have made it quite clear that is the case.” 

Newt flinched and fumbled for the words he needed to apologise - explain his behaviour but instead what came out was a something quite different. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t make such sweeping assumptions, Mr Graves.

Graves’ dark brows rose in astonishment, lips twitching slightly, and tired eyes confused “I thought that your intention was quite clear from your avoidances and I only wish that you’d given me the opportunity to properly apologise at the time. I was careless when we last met and I overstepped – I should have known better.”

“Part of the problem certainly lies in that fact, yes,” Newt replied softly and at Graves’ look of confusion he sighed and explained as best he could with a little more focussed eloquence after his initial blurting. “You _do_ know better. You seem to know a great deal about me, and I’ve rather had enough of people assuming that they know me better than I do myself. And I know that you may understand a fair bit and that it isn’t meant as an affront to me but…well… I would rather have started from a more even footing. You’re at a distinct advantage here. I’m not at all averse to knowing you better but it’s difficult when all I have is fragments of something broken…fractured memories that piece together into something I don’t quite recognise…” 

“I should’ve guessed that would’ve been your attitude on the matter – you were always constantly reminding me and Theseus to stop treating you like you were made of glass.” Graves sighed, eyes reminiscent and melancholic before they cleared a little and sought Newt’s again. “You say that you want to get to know me better? Still? After all this time?”

Newt considered the question honestly before answering “Yes, I think I do.”

“Why?” the question caught him a bit off guard as, in past, Graves had never really questioned his wanting to know him better – seeming to cling onto the willingness with all that he had.

“I…” Newt paused, frowning before venturing “I feel as if I did you a grievous wrong by leaving in the way I did and I must admit that I’m…c-curious as to why we would have ever… ever been…together in the way I gather we were…” 

“Is that all?” Graves asked, eyes soft but tone slightly disappointed, apprehensive even and Newt shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He felt the familiar warmth atop his chest, a sure grip even as he answered with some trepidation.

“I-...is that not enough for now?”

Graves looked down, dropping his own gaze before shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat “Never mind.”

“I-” Newt cut off as Graves shook his head again and the warmth disappeared as quickly as it had come. 

“It’s alright, Newt, I know it’s different for you. You don’t remember. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t curse that bastard Grindelwald for what he did to you, but I understand that it’s not your fault.”

“But it _is_ my fault that he’s free now. Dumbledore let him loose again because of me and I won’t let my own issues get in the way of helping you or Credence if I can.”

Graves expression turned hopeful “You’ll help us find him?”

Newt nodded, opening the door but pausing at the verge “I’ve been running from my responsibilities for too long already, I think, and I’ll help all I can to rectify my mistakes.”

“Thank you, Newt.” The words were sincere, and Newt smiled tightly, ducking his head, Graves paused for a few moments before speaking again, hesitantly and gesturing to Newt’s case. “Do you…have anywhere to stay? It would be easier to organise the search efforts if you were to remain in New York and I know that you prefer to remain in your case but if you need somewhere to keep it that’s more secure then I would be more than willing to arrange it.”

Newt paused, eying the other in a gauging manner before nodding hesitantly “That would...be very kind of you, Mr Graves.” He paused again, choosing his next words carefully so as not to alarm the other unnecessarily “I would prefer privacy over comfort however if that’s alright?” 

Graves gaze darkened slightly, became haunted almost “Of course.”

“Thank you.” He turned again to leave but was stopped at suddenly harsh words. 

“How long’s it been?”

“Excuse me?”

“Since you last saw him?”

“I'm afraid I don’t-”

“Don’t bother pretending, Newt, I know about the deal that Dumbledore and Grindelwald made and how you were involved – I know that you’ve been forced to see him still. I didn’t want to mention it before lest you mistake my interest in you for simply being a way to get to Grindelwald but it seems that I’ve done that already…if he’s going to be in the city – if you’re in more danger now because you’re helping us…”

Newt’s jaw clenched at the confirmation of his suspicions that Graves knew more about the situation with the blood-pact and the bargain than he had previously been letting on. “I haven’t seen him since I lost communication with everyone else – I didn’t just go on the run because of the Ministry or because of what happened with Theseus but because I needed an opportunity to get away from him too. I _needed_ it.”

“How long?” Graves repeated, though softer this time, with pain and concern prevalent.

“Maybe…six months…since I was left Berlin, I think, I kept moving, never stayed anywhere for more than a week or two as I’m meant to be seeing him once a month – it’s the only way I could think to avoid him. After Berlin, I think-…I think that he got the message that I needed time. Haven’t seen him since then, though I'm sure he’s keeping tabs on me just like the rest of you. Can’t escape my shadow.” He looked back over his shoulder with shining eyes. “If I stay here too long, I imagine he’ll show up sooner or later. Might make your job easier but I wouldn’t put any bets on it. I’m not the only one who’s good at avoiding attention when it's unwanted.” 

He did leave then, closing the door behind him firmly – not wanting to face the barrage of questions he could sense coming his way from the distraught Auror. It was all too much to face at one time after so long alone, he needed space to breathe so hastened his steps down the corridor towards the elevators before spotting Harkaway waiting by the doors, he was ready to look for another way out of the building when the other held up Newt’s wand in a placating seeming gesture. Newt hastened forward and took it from him swiftly, nodding slightly in thanks and tucking it back into his sleeve as the older man offered him an easy grin.

“Told you you’d get it back, didn’t I?” He held up a slip of paper as both stepped into the lift and began to descend back to the ground floor, Newt took it hesitantly and unfolded it as the Auror commented “Address of the safehouse Graves thought you might be needing, passphrase written on the back. Set up any extra wards you like but it's pretty secure as far as they go.” 

“Thank you, Mr Harkaway.” Newt replied, eyes on the lift floor and he glanced up briefly before venturing with a half-smile “I hear you’re a fan of my work?”

Harkaway flushed slightly but laughed it off brashly “Knew Graves wouldn’t be able to keep his gorramn mouth shut.” He offered Newt a wink that left him a touch flustered though mostly unimpressed “Yeah, can’t deny that I enjoyed it – you’ve got a very particular way of looking at things, Scamander. Good writing form too if I’m any judge of it.”

“I didn’t think that many amongst MACUSA would approve but I find that I’m being increasingly proved wrong on the matter – not that I’m complaining, of course,” Newt commented as the elevator doors dinged and they stepped out to cross the atrium again, both men offering a nod of thanks to Red as they did so. “I’ve been collecting research for a second edition that I intend on publishing at some point. When I’ve got a bit of time…and freedom.”

“That’s good to hear, as much as I enjoyed your sections on the Dragonology and Magical Ornithology, I felt there was still sumin’ to be desired, though I ‘preciate why you might leave some details of your experiences out as it could endanger them by any wanting to take advantage.” 

Newt blinked, surprised but not unpleasantly so by such an insightful and refreshing stance on the matter, from an American Auror no less, and offered the other man a bemused smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I can say that my sections on Phoenix and Zouwu will be better detailed than before as I’ve had the fortune to learn more of both over recent years.”

The man’s green eyes sparkled a little as he nodded, smiling and pausing by the door to the street outside “I look forward to reading it – as well as working with you,” At Newt’s questioning look he clarified “I’ll be working closely with Graves’y on this. The Obscurial’s disappearance aligns with my more Grindelwald focussed investigations. I usually head the day to day running but with the current climate, we’re in an all boots on the ground sorta situation.” He paused then, leaning slightly closer to Newt, speaking in hushed tones with troubled eyes that surprised him. “Graves has been a downright danger to himself at best and what with Goldstein outta the picture, a lot of the responsibilities have been falling to me. I was kinda hoping that you might be able to help with that as well as finding the Obscurial.”

Newt blinked, uncomfortable as he opened his mouth to speak, swallowed and then opened it again. “I… I’m not really sure I can help much with either of them I’m afraid. I’m only really here to help find Credence.”

“Of course. Sure you are.” Harkaway nodded, seeming to take it in his stride with such dubious ease that it had Newt feeling increasingly sceptical “Had to ask.” He paused before adding “Sorry bout blanking ya earlier, that meeting we had before weren’t strictly on the record as it were, and I thought it’d be best to play my cards close if ya get me reason’?” Newt smiled a little from the last time he’d heard those words out of his mouth – just after thumping Gellert in the face. Certainly an endearing action if there ever were one. Albeit a borderline suicidal one.

"It's quite alright.” Newt mumbled, averting his gaze again as he belatedly realised that this was perhaps the first conversation that he had had, since perhaps talking with Ada, that had been conducted with someone who treated him like anyone else. Not someone who was fragile or unstable. It still felt…nice. Surprisingly so.

“I’ll be seeing you, Scamander, unless you’d like some help getting around?” He offered but Newt shook his head, having glanced at the address, he recognised the street name as being one that was within a walkable distance of Central Park – one of the few places in New York he could apparate to as he had been there before. Thanks to Jacob, Newt smiled a little to himself as he left the building in a turn of his heel and a swirl of colour, remembering the last time he had been here a little more fondly in light of how well things had at least turned out for Jacob. He hoped he was enjoying baking in Paris with Queenie, even if they were undercover, he hoped they could be happy until such a time that they could all live freely. But he couldn’t help to feel that New York felt that bit lonelier without them. 

His pace was brisk in wake of the chilly wind, another dramatic change in scenery for him as the wilds of Arizona had been wet but of the muggy, warm variety compared to this far across the states. His coat was inside his case, buried somewhere beneath a pile of half-done laundry and repair work as he had little cause to use it and Newt instead settled for his quick stride and pulling his shirt sleeves further down his arms, the brown waistcoat doing little to help insulate him. As he walked, he was actually forced to stop twice to ask for directions after all as the layout of New York streets and blocks was quite different from what he was used to and the Muggles he encountered were not particularly helpful, hurrying off after pointing in a general direction. He supposed he must look a little strange to them – coatless in the brisk September weather, carrying a battered suitcase and sporting a darker tan than most that surrounded him, that and his accent that most Americans seemed to fixate upon.

He found the place eventually though, a smaller apartment complex by the looks of it that looked unassuming and quiet, if a bit shabby, from the outside but still significantly better than many of the places he had taken shelter in on his travels. It didn’t really matter to him about whether the place was comfortable or not as he intended to do as he always did and dwell within his case, merely using the building as a safe storage area for it while he did so. He climbed three flights of stairs to the top floor and spoke the carefully printed passphrase of ‘Indelible’ to the plain wood, brass-handled door, shivering under the scanning magic that took in his magical signature, seeming to accept it as the door clicked open with no issue and Newt slipped inside, closing it behind him.

Newt glanced over the room with a hasty though vigilant gaze, taking in the plain but sturdy-looking furnishings and the presence of the small kitchen, bedroom and bathroom before he allowed the tension to release from within him and he slid slowly down the door to settle in a crumpled heap upon the floor. Knees drawn up, case clutched to his side protectively and breathing strained and heavy. There were no tears. His face was flushed and shining with light perspiration, but he had not cried in some time. It just didn’t seem to happen any longer, no matter the sorrow he was feeling. Something had hardened within him, frozen over that prevented such warmth as tears to flow, so he sat, breathing heavily and focussing hard on the simple motion of slowing those breaths as best he could. He coaxed back the feel of the irreplaceable warmth that rested flat upon his chest, soothing and settled into it even as the now-known source of the memory had not been what he had hoped nor expected.

Pickett, as he was often wont to do, chirruped from his place in Newt’s waistcoat pocket and poked at his hand, sensing the agitation of his adopted home-tree and offering comforting chirps that Newt smiled softly at. He drew his arms away from himself slowly, leaning forward onto his knees and opening his case, crawling forward to slide down the ladder and into a world that was much more welcome than the one that lay outside it. It felt safe in here – it was the one place where no one else came anymore – Newt didn’t allow it and even Gellert had heeded Newt’s wish on this. Or at least, not whilst the dark wizard was in his own body. 

Credence, however, was another issue – a subject that Newt had not considered in some time and even though his travels over the past few months had mainly been focussed upon evading the British Ministry by taking convoluted routes and unexpected detours, he found himself feeling a bit abashed that he’d let the Obscurial slip his consideration for so long. Where the boy was and if Gellert was actually involved in his disappearance, Newt didn’t know and he felt that he owed to it to Credence to help find him now, even if only to get him away from Grindelwald if that was where he truly had fled. Sticking around in New York was a dangerous thing – both in the target staying stationary presented for Grindelwald and the British Ministry but also for his own hounding thoughts. He had found that the travelling, the constant changes of scenery and circumstances had been able to keep the more inexorable monsters at bay – the kind that dogged him every time he closed his eyes or let his mind wander along water-logged, boggy tracks back to the bleak, cold, empty destinations from where they had come. 

Newt was forced to duck in a familiar reflex as two of the Fire Drakes – Anya and Drennan – completed their now customary swoop and shoot of sparks over him as he passed their enclosure on his way over to where the Phoenix was perched. Though he still seemed to enjoy lording it over the lesser birds by claiming the highest spot of the mountain enclosure, he had since also claimed the shredded leather armchair in Newt’s lab as his own and it was there that Newt found him this time. The crimson bird flapped an affronted wing at him as he stepped past but offered a curious caw at the same time, thoroughly unimpressed by his dishevelled state and the abrupt apparation it seemed. The Phoenix always seemed to know better than the others when and how far Newt had travelled – more in-tune with wizard’s magic than other beasts and the magizoologist passed him a skinned mouse from a preserving jar which he crunched down happily as Newt continued with his business. The routine of checking, feeding and greeting was enough to soothe his cold-stiff muscles and his hammering heart back into the reflexive state of months prior. The months running since London had been a twisting labyrinth of near-misses and speedy travel in which he had been forced to get increasingly inventive and ruthless in the ways he fought off or escaped from his pursuers. He only hoped that his side-along apparition with the American Auror contingent had gone unnoticed and that he wouldn’t be forced to flee again before Credence was found…or before he managed to find the right words with Percival.

He knew he’d mucked up their first meeting since the Christmas prior and had only managed to hurt the man he was attempting to make amends with but all that he had said had been honest. He found himself wrongfooted still, having only some of the correct memories of the man and with little context or a complete narrative to accompany the guilt and sense of foreboding. Newt had gotten flustered and blurted the wrong things at the wrong times, it was an unfortunate habit and one that he intended to rectify in their next meeting. Yes, he would fix it. With that resolution in his mind, he decided to get a better look at the rooms he had been allotted and put into place his own defences to help avoid attention as much as he was able. Newt ascended the ladder and out into the dimly lit room, taking in the brass-framed bed, kitchenette and small though clean bathroom. It was set up for someone to live in comfortably, if crampedly and he got the feeling that Percival had likely chosen it for those reasons – knowing Newt’s preferences for purpose over aesthetics. He was attempting to take advantage of the helpfully stocked kitchen cupboards to fill his empty belly when the knock sounded at the door, figuring it was most likely either Harkaway or Graves himself checking in on him, he barely hesitated before crossing the apartment and opening the door.

Much to his dismay, it was neither man. He considered shutting the door right in his visitor’s face but knew it wouldn’t help anything much so simply turned on his heel and went back to what he was doing, leaving the door open as he pulled out a carton of eggs and a frying pan. His cooking skills were somewhat limited, but he could manage an omelette given the inclination and it would prove a suitable distraction from the smirking icy-blonde waiting at the mantel.

“Not going to invite me in?”

Newt didn’t look up from his task as he broke eggs into a bowl and hunted through the cupboards further for suitable seasoning “It never made a difference before.”

He heard a brief huff “I knocked, didn’t I?”

Newt glanced over his shoulder and for the first time noticed the glowing blue edge of the doorframe that Gellert’s hands were pressing against, leaning forward in a casual though imposing manner. Apparently, the wards already set up were more thorough than he had thought – it did indeed seem that he would have to invite the man in. He snorted and went back to his work. If Grindelwald was truly trapped outside or if he was simply continuing to apparently honour Newt’s boundaries – for a change – then he wasn’t going to change that state. The distance made him feel that bit more secure. An odd collectedness that stemmed from their last meeting.

The younger man heard another sigh though this was more irritated than before “I have not proven myself trustworthy yet then?”

Newt shook his curled head incredulously as he poured the egg mixture into the heated pan, focussing on the soft sizzling sounds and the movement of the heavy skillet in his hand over the heat. “Did you honestly think you would?”

“Perhaps.” Came the almost offhanded reply, Grindelwald trailing a seemingly thoughtful finger over the edge of the near-invisible runes lining the doorway, hissing a little when blue sparks spat at his fingertips and withdrawing it to his side instead. Newt nearly met the other’s mismatched eyes over his shoulder before averting to his pale cheek instead. “I had thought that leaving you some time to collect yourself might have made you more agreeable.” 

“I didn’t ask you to.” Newt replied lowly, eyes skating back to the task at hand as he dug a wooden spatula from a nearby drawer just in time to catch the singing omelette and fold it in half, waiting a few moments more before taking it off the heat and hunting through the lower cupboard for a plate and fork. He felt the dark eyes on him as he moved to sit at the small window-side table, placing himself so that he could still see the lingering form but didn’t have to look at him if he didn’t want to, letting his tainted-green eyes stare out of the window and onto the city beyond.

It was a few blessed moments of only the quiet sound of a scraping fork on ceramic before Gellert spoke again “So I notice you’re seeing our dear Director again after all this time.”

“So what if I have?” Newt responded warily, not wanting to bait the other more than was necessary but at the same time feeling a familiar stubbornness rise in him at the deliberate change of topic.

“I am assuming that my attempts were successful in that case and that even after recovering his and your own indiscretions, that you are comfortable being in his presence?”

Newt twitched slightly but did not rise to the bait – not willing to admit the gaping holes still left in his mind nor the lingering guilt that gave fuel to the possible truth in Gellert’s words of ‘indiscretions’. Newt’s eyes dropped to the worn wood floor then diffidently, studying a very interesting chip just above the hole on one battered boot. 

“Or not?”

Newt didn’t respond, mechanically scooping food into his mouth fork by fork and not looking up. He heard an amused huff of breath.

“Should I ask him myself if you’re feeling so reticent? Dear Percy has been seeking me out ever so desperately that I must say I feel inclined to oblige him with a good old-fashioned catch-up.” A dangerous note crept into his voice then “Who knows what habits I might fall back into?” 

Newt’s head finally snapped up at that and Gellert’s lips twitched in apparent amusement, eyes shining a little at the minor triumph. Newt felt irritation surge through him and also a very tempting desire to lob the no-doubt still-hot frying pan at the man but instead restrained himself to simply asking. “What do you want me to say, Gellert?”

Grindelwald arched an eyebrow, unphased “I’m merely attempting to have a conversation here, Newt, if it is really so difficult to answer me then at least do me the basic courtesy of inviting me in to share in your…” his eyes skated dubiously over Newt’s mess of egg-based mush left on his plate. “…meal.”

“If you’re going to continue the pretence of my having a choice in the matter, then no.” Newt replied frankly and Gellert let out another put upon sigh. Newt scraped up the remnants of his meal and devoured them hastily, not tasting much of it under _that _gaze and stood to drop his plate in the sink. He turned then with resolve, raising his chin and looking Grindelwald in the eye. “Whilst you’re here, I don’t suppose you’d do _me_ the courtesy of answering a question? I rather feel that you owe me on that front by now.”

The brow arched again “My how tenacious you’ve grown.” He let out a low chuckle before nodding slightly “Yes, Liebling, what is it?” 

He shrugged off the term of endearment and asked anyway “Do you have anything to do with Credence’s disappearance?”

“And who’s to say he’s disappeared?” Gellert replied cryptically and Newt shrugged lightly, digging his hands in his pockets, regarding the other levelly.

“MACUSA. Apparently, they’ve lost track of him and as you likely are aware – you’re suspect number one.”

Grindelwald tilted his head, as if considering his answer before speaking in a deliberately careful tone “I think that the question you might be better asking is ‘how many times has MACUSA lost Credence’, whether they were aware of it or not.”

Newt’s brows furrowed and he found himself taking a few steps forward “This has happened before?”

Gellert traced an absent finger just over the ward runes again, still leant against the frame as if he owned the place and had all the time in the world. “If it had then I might be inclined to direct you to places you knew meant something to Credence. Places that he might have reason to visit. People, even.”

Newt eyed Gellert with a healthy amount of sceptical suspicion before nodding slowly, getting the feeling that that was all he was going to get out of Gellert before he started demanding favours of some sort. It was a dangerous balance he was treading – engaging but not wanting to fall either way into anger or endearment in the other man’s eyes. Both were equally as damning, the main difference resided in who they were damning for. Newt, Grindelwald or the people that Newt cared for. With the barely veiled threat already made toward Percival, Newt wasn’t willing to push his luck much further if he could help it.

“Thank you.” The words pulled themselves from him out of a necessity to keep things civil in the hope that Gellert would get the hint and leave. Predictably, he didn’t.

“I thought I should inform you that I’m going to be increasing the frequency of our little trysts.”

Newt grimaced, both at the wording and the implications “Why?”

Gellert regarded him amusedly “To make up for lost time, of course.”

“Hardly seems fair.” The Magizoologist muttered, digging his hands a little deeper into his pockets, partly to hide the slight tremble in them.

“Fair is quite beside the point, little Newt, you owe me just a fraction of your time and as circumstances and my own benevolence have delayed our meetings up until this point, I think that a little more time spent together would not go amiss.” Grindelwald tilted his head again, eyes fixed and dark. Newt swallowed past the dryness in his throat.

“How frequently are we talking here?”

“Weekly. I shall let you know when next to expect me and before you get any ideas, I have taken the liberty of deterring any British Ministry forces from stepping foot on American soil so you needn’t worry on that front.”

“Deterred how exactly?”

“Merely by planting the suggestion that you are in fact journeying through the Kalahari Desert and will be remaining in the area as you attempt to evade their clutches.”

Newt regarded him warily though with a trace of amusement at the idea of the British Ministry traipsing across such unfriendly terrain under the impression that they were close to catching him. But instead of demonstrating that mild glee, he carefully asked: “Why do you want me in New York?”

Gellert seemed to consider this “Nostalgia, I suppose. Alongside a healthy desire for you to be somewhat stable in your living conditions, at least for a time.”

“Are you not concerned that you frequently coming here will attract unwanted attention? For both of us?”

Gellert laughed almost delightedly at the suggestion and it set a chill down Newt’s spine “I spent months right under the noses of _MACUSA's finest_ without detection. I’d wager that any sightings or rumoured sightings of myself would go unnoticed or unsubstantiated...especially when the consequences of any attention being drawn would be made...exceedingly clear.” His eyes were cold, and his tone broached no illusions as to the unpleasant implications of anyone being informed of Grindelwald’s activities.

Newt took another few steps closer, halting directly in front of the entrance with his hand gripping the edge of the door in a white-knuckled grip that would go unobserved from Gellert’s perspective but helped the younger man feel a little more stable. “I won’t be making any efforts to draw attention to either of us but I’m not sure that I can trust the same from you. Your tendencies for the dramatic and horrendous make me very doubtful that you’re here simply for me. Or that even if you were, that you’d keep it particularly subtle.”

Gellert chuckled slightly, looking up at Newt through lowered lashes “And you’d be right, but I swear that in this instance I shall not attempt to attract any unmerited attention.”

Newt huffed out an irritated breath of air, frustrated at the man’s continuedly evasive language and obvious double meanings – the attempts to create loopholes in his promises in which to slither and get his own way. He was accustomed to them by now after all. “Gellert, can you not simply wait until I’ve left New York before our next…visit?” He forced out the word to sound palatable before continuing “I shouldn’t expect it to be more than a month or so and-”

Gellert’s smirk widened into something downright salacious “Why so keen to keep our relationship secret, dear Newton? One would almost think that I was your consort with all the efforts you seem to be putting into keeping your Percy in the dark.” He arched his brow again in mock inquisitiveness that had Newt gritting his already straining teeth “It _does_ make me curious how well your reunion went.”

Newt diverted his gaze to study his feet once more and Gellert made an exaggerated ‘oh’ of comprehension “So it either went so well that you might be expecting a visit from our dear director or so poorly that you intend to be paying him one? Am I close?” 

“Stop it.”

“Touched a nerve, perhaps?”

Newt’s grip tightened on the edge of the door and he made an impulsive, aggressive move to slam it in Grindelwald’s face, predictably, the wizard did not accept the motion and instead gripped it tight, attempting to force it back open. There was a resounding shockwave that forced them both back, Gellert into the opposite wall and Newt sprawled out on the floor of the apartment, skidding on the wood and feeling splinters digging into the skin of his hands as he caught himself. Newt quickly scrambled to his feet, reaching into his sleeve for his wand and turning back to the half-open door, panting slightly and trying to repress familiar images of the pair being blown away from each other in a cold, grey box of stone. The images pressed to the backs of his eyes with resounding pressure that made the insides of his nose almost burn with his attempts to repress them.

Grindelwald righted himself, dusting down his clothes and flexing one arm experimentally, letting out a huff of breath, both irritable and amused, before he offered Newt a thin smile, eying his drawn wand with apparent satisfaction. “I suppose that would’ve been enough to trigger whatever warning signals that were woven into these runes, would it not?”

Newt paled, realising that it would likely mean that Percival and/or possibly a group of Aurors would be arriving to check on the safehouse and would run right into Grindelwald. The man had been baiting him – again. Damn it. He stepped forward hurriedly, knowing he probably didn’t have long “What will it take for you to leave now?”

Gellert smiled “I’m glad you understand your position here, Newt.” He paused just long enough to worry Newt that it wasn’t a ploy after all and that he actually intended to face the Aurors and most likely kill them all. “Accept my terms and I’ll keep out of the way of your activities here and away from your loyal little puppy Percy. Weekly visits and no more of these stubborn silences and petty resistances.”

Newt heard footsteps slamming up the stairs a flight or so below and panicked, nodding hastily “Yes, yes, fine.” Gellert held out his hand and Newt only hesitated for a moment before shaking it firmly once through the door, cringing away when Gellert tugged it forward and pressed his lips softly, though possessively to his bleeding knuckles before vanishing in a silent pop of apparition. Newt could feel the lingering heat and satisfaction of the other’s stare even after he was gone and was quick to step back, momentarily dithering before throwing himself to the floor on the mantel of the door.

Mere seconds later, the footsteps skidded to a halt beside him and Newt looked up through dishevelled hair with a sheepish grin plastered on his face at the sight of a flustered, concerned-looking Director staring down at him. The Magizoologist made a show of scrambling to his feet again, brushing himself off a little and holding up his wand in an explanatory gesture to Percival’s searching mahogany eyes. “Terribly sorry about that, was just adding some of my own protections and I think that they must’ve interfered with the ward runes more than I anticipated.”

Percival eyed him in equal parts scepticism and exasperation, stowing his wand away and sighing heavily “Be more careful next time, please.” He paused, eying Newt’s pale face and lightly bleeding, splintered hands before asking “Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course, just a few scratches.”

“Can I see?” Percival hovered for a few moments, frozen on the other side of the door and Newt brought his uninjured hand up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck, flushing a little under the gaze that had been resurfaced in his memories in much more intimate circumstances.

He jolted in realisation before nodding and hastily adding “Uh, yes, come in, Percival.”

Percival smiled a little, stepping over the threshold and experiencing the same blue scanning light that Newt had earlier. It accepted him and he walked in slowly, almost cautiously and carefully took Newt’s wrist in a light grip, examining the damage and waving a hand over it to gently draw out the splinters. Newt hissed lightly, shuddering slightly under the touch and Percival waved his hand only once more, clearing away the blood and tiny wounds before releasing Newt and stepping back 

The Auror made his way to stand over by the window, back to the view but giving Newt space after the sudden contact, which he appreciated. But also found himself resenting just a little, longing for the warm, careful touch again. After Gellert’s abrupt appearance after so long and with having Percival standing so close to him, Newt the inexplicable need to be wrapped up in Percival’s arms, to seep into his warmth and citrus-pine sent. To feel the whiskey-heat of his breath on his cheek and to lose himself in the comfort and passion that he now recalled so well. The heat that chased him in his waking and sleeping hours in ways that left the elusive remnants all that more frustrating to be apart from. There were too many missing pieces. The image was not whole, and it left him…doubting. Doubting what, he was not certain, but that uncertainty left pain in its wake. He wasn’t sure how to ask, how to move forward without potentially regretting an action later, going too fast, too slow – confusing, pushing away, making the mistake of pulling Percival too close only to remember where that hesitance might be coming from. There could be a multitude of reasons why the final memories were not returning and whilst the reasons could be utterly innocuous, Newt was also concerned that Gellert was right… that the indiscretions could tear apart anything he might try to build. 

“Newt?”

Newt shook himself out of his contemplation, blushing high in his cheeks when he realised that he had been staring at Percival the whole time and the older man was now regarding him oddly, shifting a little under his gaze. The Magizoologist diverted it back to his own feet, surprised several moments later when shiny black leather shoes stepped into his line of sight and a flash of seeing those same shoes flickered behind Newt’s eyes, remembering looking up at Percival’s fond, amused smile from the floor of his case. He flicked his eyes back up to study about Percival’s furrowed brow.

“How are your creatures faring? It’s been some time since I’ve seen them. The Occamy must be fully grown by now I should expect?”

Newt blinked then reaffirmed himself by remembering that Percival did indeed know his creatures fairly well, recalling with some fondness the sketches that he had found and made since his memories started returning. Moments caught in time by images of Percival with his creature friends, connecting the familiar beloved with the jarringly new. 

_Percival with Nifflers all over him after he fell asleep on Newt's sofa for the dozenth time since the Auror started visiting. _

_Percival attempting to placate an angry Augery with feathers stuck in his hair, coat and collar, lingering traces of Newt’s laughter clinging to the memory. _

_Percival with Tina and Queenie at the kitchen table, sharing coffee and pastries whilst Pickett attempted to scale the Director’s leg from where he had been foraging about on the kitchen floor, wanting to be involved in the conversation even if Newt was his only translator. _

_An odd sketch of an Ashwinder curled up asleep and content in one of Percival's shoes by the fire, coiled into the warmth even as Percival tried to get Newt to help him extricate the creature so that he could leave. Newt refusing, playfully insisting that Percival be stuck there forever…Percival kissing him softly in the firelight and asking if that was a promise…_

He blinked himself back into awareness as Percival spoke again, looking increasingly worried by Newt’s drifting in and out of the conversation. “Are you sure you’re alright, Newt? You didn’t hit your head or anything?”

Newt shook his head jerkily “No, sorry, I’m fine, better than I heard you’ve been.” He cringed at his own words before they’d even properly left his mouth and was somewhat relieved when Percival shook his head with a bitter laugh instead of being affronted.

“You’d be right there.”

Newt felt hesitant to ask as his gaze slid over the exposed skin of Percival’s hands, face and neck, eying the too-perfect seeming flesh with confusion tracing the movements “I thought that you were hurt, that there were scars, Queenie said…”

Percival seemed to flinch then, tensing fractionally and his left hand flexed as if trying to dispel an unpleasant sensation, Newt’s eyes zeroed in on the motion and the Auror instantly halted it, trying to not call attention it seemed. He took a deep breath before answering in a purposefully offhanded tone “No lasting damage, see?” and then instinctively waved toward his own face, he froze halfway through the movement however and slid the gesturing hand back to his own side. Newt noted the uncharacteristic uncertainty but didn’t comment, seeing that whatever Percival was hiding, he clearly didn’t want it noticed. Newt could understand that.

Instead, he offered a thin smile and commented “The Occamy are doing well, fully grown, as you said, though as you probably remember, ‘fully grown’ is a rather relative term for them.”

Percival’s answering smile was brittle but genuine “I remember. I’d like to see them again if it’s no trouble. For the sake of cataloguing any potential escapees, of course. Feel like it’d be rather necessary after your last visit to New York, departmental policy and all.”

“You don’t need to use my creatures as an excuse to get close to me, Mr Graves – I think I’m quite past the point where I believe that you’re going to try to get near me or my creatures for your own malicious intent…at least not yet anyway.” 

Percival’s brows shot up at the coy smile Newt sent his way, eyes searching and seeming convinced of the earnestness in the words when Newt felt his own face flush further. He wasn’t sure where the little bout of confidence had come from but looking at Percival now, he felt like it had been a step in the right direction - an invitation, a statement of intention. The Auror seemed to take it and his smiled strengthened a touch, warming the sharper contours of his weary face as he stepped forward, angling between both Newt and his case. “I’m glad I’ve made such a shining impression.”

The comment could’ve been harsh in its sarcasm, but Newt didn’t feel it that way, merely offering a shy twitch of his lips before he crouched to open his case. He felt a hand on his shoulder a second later and straightened abruptly, feeling Percival go to withdraw at his reaction but surprisingly both by shaking his head slightly and leaning into the contact instead, just a little. Just letting it rest there for a moment before he jerked his head in the direction of his case, averting eye contact and murmuring “Follow me, Mr Graves.” 

He was descending into his case, feeling a fondness follow when he heard the barely audible answering murmur of “Gladly.”

**A/N – Hey, not sure who’s left reading at this point, sorry again for sketchy updates and dubious quality. Just thought I’d put in a trigger warning for future chapters on graphic violence and some nasty sexual business too. I’m not just referring to nasty in a good way. Seriously, you’ve been warned. Any requests or prompts are also welcome if they’re workable. **


	10. Fall n favour

**“And who would ever dream, a child sweet as I seem would be the source of so much pain and strife. **

**Every time I tried to take the high road something deep inside me dragged me down, wherever I appear came hate, despair and fear seems trouble always followed me around. **

**Say it's not too late for you to hold me…And they're so bad, the love you gave to me so unconditionally.**

**So sad, so sad**

**Born bad**

**Nary have I written you a letter hardly have I called, lest things were bad and all those I called friends are all gone in the end, in truth you were the best I ever had. **

**…I don't want to go, I don't want to go, I'm not nearly yet. No! No!” – ‘Born Bad’ – Aurelio Voltaire **

It helped to ease Newt a little to see how well all of the older creatures in his case reacted to Percival, alleviating a bit more tension as many of them treated him with near-cordiality rather than hostility, some of them even going so far as to greet the man outright without him even approaching them. Such as the Nifflers, though that may have also been due to his shiny cufflinks, Newt had to fight down laughter as the furry creatures made increasingly less subtle attempts to grab the accessories off the Auror as the pair explored further through the cases’ enclosures. Most especially notable had been when Benjamin, Leela and Effie attempted to tag-team Percival by jumping at him from different angles and vantage points and Newt had been inclined to help extricate writhing furry bodies from the Director’s hair and clothes. 

A few more flurries of recollection were stirred within him as they walked and talked, of similar circumstances – most notably at Queenie and Jacob’s wedding – and though he didn’t make it entirely clear, he got the feeling that Percival was beginning to ease into their contact more now. They both were. Newt, as his instincts and memories began to relax him and Percival by Newt’s lighter demeanour. The young Magizoologist tried to make it clear that he wasn’t as uncomfortable in Percival’s presence as he had been previously and thought that he had succeeded for the most part simply because of how long they spent together that day. It certainly wasn’t easy, there were clear gaps in what they spoke of, careful evasions and hedging attempts to broach subjects that often left awkward silences in their wake but the movement and presence of Newt’s friends helped them move on from those pauses without too much difficulty. 

It had oddly enough been Newt’s attempts to scale the Phoenix’s cliff to check on the reluctant creature that had resulted in the truly memorable moment that was that much more difficult to unstick. Percival had stood at the foot of the rocky enclosure, watching Newt’s ascent with slightly dubious eyes, arms crossed and a slight smile gracing his lips. He had watched for maybe thirty seconds before calling up in a deliberately light tone.

“Sure you don’t want me to do that? I’m a fair climber and I’d rather you didn’t hurt yourself.” Newt had glanced down as the Auror had shrugged his shoulders with a self-deprecating shrug of his unhelpfully, _distractingly_ broad shoulders.

Newt had snorted slightly without looking down, manoeuvring his body ever higher on the cliff face, "I would’ve thought you’d be too worried you'd ruin that dashing suit of yours to do much climbing." Newt glanced down again as he heard a surprised huff of laughter and smirked challengingly. Graves returned it with a sparkle in his eyes that did something strange and entirely unfair to Newt's insides, his grip sliding momentarily on a rock as he levered himself higher.

"You think my suit is dashing then do you?"

"You _know_ it is," Newt grumbled, flushing slightly, ducking his head as if to focus on his climb but instead using the angle and height to hide his flaming cheeks.

"Well obviously, but it's nice to hear that you think so too."

Newt was about to reply with a playfully scathing retort on the man’s cockiness but was cut to the chase as Percival added nonchalantly, “And I’ll forgive you for forgetting that that bird doesn’t exactly like me in the first place.”

Newt nodded absently but was caught up a second later into a flurry of memory that left him reeling, the sudden images of Percival, a red-tinted cell and an equally crimson bird clipped with gold entering in a blind haze of empty, unseeing eyes. _His body aching, bloody, mostly naked and bruised, alone for some time after Percival’s fleeting presence which had come as an undeserved consolation…the splodges of green and crimson coming back with him as a welcome one…a solace he could accept without wallowing in the pain and his betrayal of the man he loved…it hurt….it hurt…more than his body did…his heart hurt…too much…_

Newt wasn’t aware that he had released his grip on the rock under his hands until he was tumbling through the air; his eyes widened and he flailed, too raw to do more than let out a startled cry. The instinct to apparate came seconds too late and he prepared himself for a painful impact with the ground before he was abruptly stopped, frozen in mid-air and gasping breathlessly. He looked to his side where Percival was stood, hand outstretched and face pale and stricken- looking, every muscle tight in his body as he levitated Newt slowly back down to solid ground and the Magizoologist could only just get his trembling limbs to cooperate enough to lean heavily against the nearest boulder. The memory and its implications left him feeling decidedly weak and shaking, shocked and entirely pliable as Percival stepped forward, forgetting his previous cautious gentlemanly behaviour and gripping Newt tightly by the shoulders and almost shaking him. The Magizoologist flinched and Percival froze, loosening his touch a little but not relinquishing it, eyes searching and almost desperate as he peered into Newt’s ashen face. 

“Newt? What happened? Where’d you go?” he demanded with intense concern. 

“How’d you-” Newt croaked out, a hazy frown forming on his face as Percival jerked his head in a dismissive gesture.

“I’ve seen you have enough flashbacks to know one when I see it, now tell me where you went.”

Newt swallowed, head dipping forward slightly before he looked up into deep eyes and answered, “There was a dark room…a cell with red light…not Nurmengard…I remember the room but not much else about it…you…you came in with the Phoenix…and Pick…but everything was all…blurry…mainly just colours and I couldn’t see-” he swallowed down nausea at the sensations lingering still on him, _inside_ him, skin crawling and tingling, most intimate areas invaded and the man he betrayed offering comfort…just like he was now. But he knew…he knew and was still here. Still trying.

He looked deeper into mahogany eyes and asked with genuine desperate confusion, “Why’d you forgive me, Percy? Why’d you keep trying?”

Percival frowned, face frozen in a mask of confusion and concern, “What are you talking about, Newt?”

“You- you stayed to help me…you came back with…with help and you knew what I did. With…with Gellert. You still…you don’t hate me…do you?”

Percival’s expression softened into something heart-breaking in its understanding and his grip softened further on Newt’s shoulders, slipping down to lightly circle his wrists, one thumb gently stroking along Newt’s and the other rubbing soft circles over his pulse point. “Oh sweetheart, no, of course not, I don’t hate you.”

“But you should…” Newt felt genuine bewilderment.

“I’m not sure how much you remember at this point, but let me make it clear to you that I don’t blame you for what Grindelwald did or how you coped with it. I know what he’s capable of making people do and feel and the bond was messing with your head, too…even if it wasn’t…then I understand… I truly do…I don’t hate you and the more you remember, the more I hope you realise that.” his brows creased in consternation. “I pushed you away at the wrong time. Just when an end was in sight for you to be rid of that damn bond. I sent you right to him because I was angry and jealous of something I thought was there when I had no real proof…if anyone should be placing blame then it should be you, blaming me,” Percival offered a small, fractured smile that stunned Newt in its hopefulness; it shone through like a crack in ice on a winter’s day. “But if I’m being honest, I think that we should not throw blame around at each other and simply accept that what happened, happened -- and focus on how we feel now…” his searching gaze brought forth a flush in Newt’s face that made both smile nervously. “I’d like to think that I could help you get back your memories if that’s what you want, and I think that spending time together could do just that…if you’ll let me?”

Newt ducked his head just a little at the admittance he was about to make and spoke in a hoarse just-above whisper, “Percival…I…I’ve been starting to remember…”

The Auror’s brows shot up and then knitted, lips parting before be breathed, “How? Did something trigger it? Was that what that was, just now?”

“Part of it,” Newt agreed hesitantly, concerned that this confession would hurt more than it would help, debating himself whether honesty would truly help them mend what had been broken between them.

He was usually one to be blunt with the truth but in this case admitting that he had been remembering Percival for the best part of a year and had kept pushing their meeting back, knowing that Percival was in pain and that he could have done something about it but didn’t… Newt was reluctant to own up to what increasingly appeared to be his own cowardice when things finally seemed to be going in a positive direction. Should he ruin that now? Percival would likely find out eventually but maybe if he waited until his memories had fully returned, then it wouldn’t matter? Perhaps there was no reason that he should wipe the hope from Percival’s warm mahogany eyes now, break his heart all over again after he’d just told Newt that he forgave him…

Was it truly that selfish to want to hold onto this warmth, this loving, caring, sweet feeling for just a little while? Didn’t he deserve it? Would it really matter in the long run?

But then he thought of Gellert. Of what the petty, sadistic, insidious, jealous man would do with the information should he discover that Newt was keeping his long-held knowledge a secret from Percival…he’d use it against them both. He’d manipulate things and the truth until it was more damning that it truly was. Newt couldn’t let there be a chance that Gellert would find a way to ruin this, it was what he sought to do and Newt had learnt enough from his past mistakes to know that the dark wizard would get his way if he had something to latch on to. Newt wasn’t going to give him that leverage.

He breathed in calmly, albeit a little shakily and spoke: “I’ve been remembering for months now, since Berlin, and I keep on getting a little more each time. I’ve been working on piecing it together and I wanted to make sure that I had all of it before I came to see you,” he let out a half breathy laugh. “Circumstances changed, though. When Harkaway and your Aurors came, I figured that there was no point in fighting it. I had enough. And you were right, being around you is bringing back more.”

He ducked his head shamefully, “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. When Queenie told me what you’d been like…when Harkaway did…I thought you might be better off moving on. I couldn’t remember but I still _felt_ the guilt and I thought that maybe it was best that I didn’t remember.” His expression and voice hardened then, “But Gellert decided that I was going to remember and that’s what happened.”

“What do you mean, he decided?” Percival asked, grip tightening infinitesimally on Newt’s wrists, just barely noticeable but telling in itself as Percival radiated tension and pain.

“In Berlin, after I escaped the fighting at the party… we met again,” Newt’s eyes burned, dry and painful as he fought to keep himself steady, on the touch upon his wrists, bare skin connecting the two men and keeping Newt from drifting too deep into the recollections of that night. Of the exposure and the confusion. “He…he was as he usually was, until he wasn’t. He seemed to have a sort of…a change of heart would be too forgiving a term, but that’s all I can think of to call it…” Newt shifted a little awkwardly on his feet under Percival’s intensifying stare but continued. “He isn’t able to perform magic on me directly…but this wasn’t exactly casting in a literal sense – it was removing something he had done already, so I think that’s why it worked. It hurt…it still does, like a swarm of bees behind my eyes, but I started remembering then, in bits and pieces…”

Percival’s hand dropped one wrist and moved up to press softly against where Newt’s brow was furrowed, the side of his face firmly cradled as Percival stroked soothing fingertips over the area of discomfort and Newt smiled gratefully, sadly, into his hand. Percival seemed to consider his words before speaking, looking hopeful yet still cautious, concerned and even a little angry -righteously so perhaps. “I hate to look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth, Newt, I really do, but are you sure that what’s in your head is truly real? How do you know that this isn’t just another trick? That he’s placing false memories to mess with you more?” His head tilted as he searched Newt’s eyes, mahogany piercing tainted-green as the Auror’s lips thinned into a worried line, “You seem…different. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I can feel it…”

Newt shook his head a little, barely resisting the urge to rub his face into Percival’s touch, to disappear in the warmth and not think for a very long time. “I don’t know. Most of it feels right… disjointed, maybe, but it seems to fit with what I’ve been told by others about…how we were.”

Percival seemed to dither before he said, challenging, “Do you remember the first time we kissed?”

Newt nodded, softly though eagerly at the willingness to prove his own agency. “We were in my kitchen. I kicked everyone out and you ended up half straddling me on top of my sink…”

Percival chuckled, looking relieved, amused and fond all at once as he stroked a thumb over Newt’s blushing cheek, “Yes, that’s about right.” He paused again before trying again, “Do you remember meeting my mother?”

Newt felt a jolt of uncertainty then, shaking his head worriedly before Percival smiled at him encouragingly, “Good, that’s good, you would’ve remembered meeting her, trust me. It never happened.”

Newt felt the urge to slap the man but restrained it to playfully shoving at his shoulder, “Bloody hell, don’t do that, I’m having a hard enough time setting things right in my head without you testing me like that.”

Percival chuckled again, mostly unrepentant as he let the shove push him back a step, though he kept hold of Newt’s hand all the same. “Sorry, I just thought I should check that you were actually remembering the truth and not just what someone else might’ve told you…or that you were just telling me what you thought I wanted to hear.”

Newt nodded, “I understand.”

“What about the first time you said that you loved me?”

Newt paused, pulling the memory through a careful film of mind frost, frowning a little as drew the occasion forth, “It was after you punched Albus in the face if I recall…I’d…I’d told you about…what…what Gellert had done….I wanted to prove to you that I didn’t feel the same way about him that I did you. I told you the truth and you…you staked a claim…I remember that more clearly than anything,” he brushed a hand over his own collarbone, at the base of his neck where he knew the love-bite still resided, knowing where it came from with better clarity as he witnessed a glimpse of the gleaming teeth that had made the mark as Percival laughed again, fondly. 

“I think I’m convinced for now,” Percival consoled before angling Newt to look more directly at him in a clear earnest motion. “But is there anything else I should know, Newt, anything you want to say?”

Newt chewed his lip and almost laughed outright when he saw Percival’s eyes drawn to the motion immediately before flickering deliberately back up to his eyes. He was momentarily tempted to tell Percival of Gellert’s presence in New York but decided that that secret was one that was most certainly better kept unless he wanted the two men to hunt each other down and for it to result in a bloody conflict that would not likely end well for any involved. He didn’t want Percival in any more danger than he already was. And shamefully…if he was being more honest than he ever wanted to be with himself, the idea of Gellert dying…it wasn’t as much of a relief as it perhaps should have been. Any meeting of the two men would end in one or both of their deaths…a bloody, cruel one at that.

Both were too fixated by this point to let anything less than the other’s brutal demise be the end.

Percival clearly saw his indecision and while his eyes narrowed very slightly, he shook his head when Newt opened his mouth to explain – or try to -- and the Magizoologist subsided immediately.

“It’s alright, Newt, you can tell me in your own time – whatever it is – I didn’t mean to push things this far this quickly and I just count myself fortunate that you’ve been as…open as you have been.”

His gaze turned soft, bordering on apologetic, then, “I think we would both benefit from a slower pace from now on…I don’t want to rush anything because of the history between us…it’s been a long time and you’ve…we’ve both been through a lot since we met and even before. Even more so, recently, and I want to take the time to show you that I care, Newt, not just from memory and not just from nostalgia, not just from clinging onto someone that we both were,” he offered a coy, soft smile. “I’d like your permission to court you all over again. This time without external pressure,” Newt had no doubt what ‘external pressure’ meant as Percival put distasteful emphasis on the words, anger curling around his tongue like fiery strands of righteousness forging the meaning.

“There will always be pressure, Percival. There will always be circumstances that will force decisions and fuel feelings that might make things more difficult, but they can also make things simple. Pressure can force people to make decisions and face truths that they would otherwise be afraid to,” Newt let his earnestness fuel his own words and fervency. “But I’m happy to go slowly if that’s what you want. If that’s what you need. I’ll do it. In all honesty, there’s still enough missing in me…enough jumbled around that I think it would do us both some good. But I still feel…I care greatly for you, jumbled and all.”

“Thank you, Newt,” Percival said, eyes alit yet shadowed, like movement in lamplight. “I think I needed to hear you say that.” 

“Glad I could help,” Newt murmured, very tempted to lean forward to get a genuine taste of the lips that he’d imagined and remembered in graphic detail for months, not knowing if that was too much after what Percival had just expressed. Too fast. Apparently so, because Percival caught his tainted-green gaze lingering on his lips and seemed to take a deliberately calming breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth and stepping back. Newt felt a tendril of disappointment but respected the older man’s wishes, dropping his hand and rubbing the tingling appendage awkwardly over the side of his leg, dissipating the warmth that suffused his skin from the contact into the friction of skin against fabric.

Percival looked a touch guilty then, eyes flickering over Newt’s nervous form and face before he ventured in a clearly hesitant tone, not wanting to break the peace of the moment but needing to ask all the same it seemed, “How are you feeling? Have you been, ah, handling…what happened with you and Grindelwald...damnit…are you alright?”

Newt tilted his head, an arm snaking around his own waist and keeping his trembling hands pinned at his sides to mask the instability, “As alright as I can expect to be, I suppose. In a way, everything that’s been happening: my memory loss, the British Ministry hunting me, Theseus’…injury, and everyone disappearing… it’s been a good distraction.” 

“Newt, you of all people know that there’s a difference between distracting yourself from a problem and it actually being resolved or getting any better. You _know_ this.”

Newt half-shrugged, “Yes, yes, I do, but with Gellert -- with him coming back -- there was no respite from the memories of it all, and after a while… I think…well, it didn’t become normal but it helped me see past the…the violence and the violation. I haven’t forgiven him, but I came to the same realisation that I did when he was in my head all that time: I can’t change it. I don’t have to like it but I’m finding ways of handling it so that he doesn’t-…he doesn’t get too much.” 

Percival nodded gravely but with understanding, “No use worrying ’bout the things you can’t change…” The words were mirrored back from Newt himself, who had said them a long time ago to the Auror. Newt nodded too. Percival’s brow furrowed, “Should we expect him to come visiting any time soon, do you suppose?”

Newt swallowed, averting his gaze to a nearby scrub of dry grass, “I really couldn’t say. He comes and goes as he pleases.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. He didn’t know exactly when he would next see the wizard, just that it would likely be by the next week at some point. For all he knew, they could have found Credence by then and Newt could be gone again. The thought left a tight, aching feeling in his chest at the idea of leaving so soon. He pushed it aside as Percival spoke. 

“You don’t seem particularly bothered by that notion, Newt.”

Newt’s head snapped up in a glare that surprised both but made it no less effective. “Just because I’m not surprised by his presumptive bloody nature doesn’t mean that I have to let it define me. If he wants to come here then there isn’t much that I can do about it and neither can you. You know what he’s like. Hell, he could have been here already and unless he wants someone to know about it, they won’t have a damn clue.”

“Look, I’m sorry, Newt, this is difficult. I don’t want you to feel like I’m using that bastard’s obsession with you to catch him but I’ve been doing little else but trying to hunt the fucker down for a long time now, and if it meant keeping you safe too then what reason would I have not to use his stalking you to put him down for good?”

Newt shook his head, “I know you think that killing him will make you feel better but you won’t make _anything_ better if you get yourself killed because you go in angry and stupid.”

“Don’t you have any faith that I could well beat him?. He doesn’t have that damned special wand of his anymore, does he? How are you so certain that I couldn’t do it?”

“You know that the Elder Wand isn’t his only advantage, Percival. He’s ruthless, manipulative and powerful. He’d find a way to kill you or hurt you and I don’t want you risking that.”

“He’s already hurt me, Newt, and I came through the other side and I’m twice as determined to see him get what he deserves!” 

Newt stepped forward, hands bunched in frustrated fists at his side and eyes beseeching, stinging and desperate, "He could kill you, Percy. At any time he likes."

Percival snorted in derision but softened the scornful humour by stepping forward and gripping Newt’s arm in a reassuring gesture, letting his head fall forward loosely to connect with Newt’s damp, curled copper fringe, letting out a sighing breath of pressure, "Lots of things could kill me, Newt - your brother, my mother, one of the particularly irritable Occamy, hell even the Nifflers could probably get me in numbers."

Newt couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up past his lips at the ridiculous images and also at the Auror’s sheer cockiness, “I’m being serious, Percival. I don’t want you gone. Not now. Not ever.”

Percival expression softened from humour into humility, “Sorry, Newt, but this is something that I can’t give up on. I’ll be careful, I promise. I don’t want to die any more than you want it. I won’t leave you alone with him. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of, Percival.”

“Maybe it should be,” he murmured, almost irritably.

“That’s not what I-”

“I know,” Percival interrupted, consoling again before he leant back, giving them both space to breathe before then changing the direction away from the overtly provocative – much to the relief of both. “For now, Credence is our priority and if that ends up with me finding and disembowelling Grindelwald, all the better. But I swear that making sure Credence is safe and okay is all that I ask you to help with.”

“Thank you, Percival,” Newt replied, rubbing a weary hand over his face and stepping forward and around the Auror to properly examine the cliff face. “Now I’m starting to get concerned. I would’ve expected all that shouting to have bothered the Phoenix enough to come down. He's been odd since before he helped me at the Ministry, but he’s only gotten more solitary since then…I was rather hoping that you being in here might annoy him enough to come down.” 

“I knew you remembered that he didn’t like me,” Percival muttered irritably but with wry humour, and Newt shot him a look before letting out a call to the bird. Nothing.

“You still haven’t named him then?”

Newt shook his head absently, eyes fixed upon the edge of the Phoenix’s nest which was visible at the very top, the large alcove still and quiet “Didn’t seem right…he’s no more or less a pet than any of my friends, but I always get the feeling that if he wanted to be claimed like that then he would let me know. Proud thing that he is. Doesn’t like labels and I didn’t feel the same instinct to name him that I do with most of the others,” Newt stepped back a little further, craning his neck in an attempt to see better but only spotted a glimpse of red and a shadow before the nest grew still again. He sighed, “I just wish that I could get up there and see what’s wrong with him.”

“Oh no you don’t, Newt, not after what just happened,” Percival reprimanded, placing himself firmly between Newt and the cliff, putting a hand out to rest meaningfully on his chest. 

Newt scowled half-heartedly at him, “I would’ve been fine if you hadn’t distracted me and triggered those memories. You’re not the only one who’s a capable climber, I’ve done it before.”

“Can you not fly up there? Don’t you think it’d be safer?”

Newt shook his head with a rueful grin, eyes downcast, “I’m not exactly allowed a broom permit anymore, and I haven’t been able to convince any dealers to sell me one.”

Percival arched his eyebrow in bewildered amusement, “Dare I even ask?”

“I might be better if you didn’t. You’re already overlooking plenty on my behalf and I don’t think adding to it will help anything. If Theseus knew everything I’d done that wasn’t exactly on record he’d probably have an aneurism.” 

“Duly noted,” Percival commented, looking weary but seemingly content, or at least more so than before they came down here. The Auror’s face shimmered in the sunlight, oddly but not in an unattractive manner…just noticeable. Different in an unplaceable sort of way. Newt felt the urge to reach out and stroke the cheek that was mesmerising him so strangely but didn’t. He got the feeling that Percival had meant what he said about a slower pace. Newt could understand that better than anyone…even if his curiosity drew him in fast and inexorable like quicksand. He resisted.

Instead, Newt directed both of them toward the case’s entrance, a jerk of his head and quick steps that compelled the other to follow, which he did. Parting was easier than before, Percival speaking excuses of work duties that needed attending to despite the fact that the sun was now down and normal working hours well past. Newt accepted it because he knew that they both needed the space and the time before they were pushed together in the field of work, which Percival told him would begin the next day when his forces were organised and he had a clearer layout of what to do now that Newt was there.

Despite the circumstances, Newt got a better night’s sleep than he had in quite some time, his mind and body weary enough so that he forwent his usual preference of sleeping in his case’s cot and actually used the apartment bed. It was comfortable enough and he found himself somewhat fond of the stream of morning sunlight warming his exposed foot as it travelled slowly with the sun’s motion across the sky outside. He’d neglected to close the curtains and blinds the previous day as he’d been very much caught up in his creature settling activities and showing the subject of his mental exhaustion around. He rolled onto his side, indolent muscles eased by the shift before he went about utilising the apartment’s modern plumbing by showering and then making breakfast, he wasn’t sure when he was expected at the Woolworth building but felt that being ready early couldn’t hurt.

He was proven right around a half-hour later when there was a knock at the door and this time, he was cautious enough to check the peephole before opening it, no one was there. Feeling trepidation building in his gut, he opened the door a crack, ready to slam it shut should he need to, but all he found was a folded slip of paper upon the floor outside. He crouched down, staring at it quizzically, suspiciously, before testing a few scanning and revealing charms upon it. Finding nothing amiss, Newt risked snatching the parchment up. Nothing untoward immediately made itself known so he opened it and read the words written in unfamiliar handwriting. It wasn’t Percival’s, he knew that much, and his trepidation only rose in his gut further at the neat, cramped penmanship, the elegantly looped letters and the vaguest hint of juniper that wafted from the paper as he lifted it close enough to read. 

_Newt, _

_You will do me the pleasure of accompanying me out on the following Tuesday night at eight o’clock. Do not feel obliged to prepare in any particular fashion, as I shall be providing you with suitable evening wear_ _. It should go without saying that you shall not make mention of this to any of your American associates. I have made sure that they will find themselves thoroughly preoccupied on the night in question. _

_Don’t make the mistake of thinking that this is an occasion where you can be as uninvolved as you have been in the past. It would not end well for anyone. _

_I look forward to seeing you again, and with affectionate thoughts, remain _

_Your oh-so-secret paramour _

Newt shuddered, bunching the note up in his hand in irritation and disgust, flinching however a moment later when the paper burst into flames and he was left crouched with an empty fist of ash. He pressed his eyes shut and dusted his palm against the floor, smearing the dust from his skin as if this could rid him of the words or his obligation. The letter had been an order, a challenge and a mockery, but there wasn’t much he could do to challenge it in return without drawing a great deal of attention to Gellert. From people who were not prepared for it.

He had only three days before he saw him. 

He jolted up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, just in time to avoid being found on the floor again. Newt offered a quick, awkward smile to Harkaway who regarded him with an easy, weary grin and a mildly sceptical eye.

“Mornin’. Figured I was comin’, eh?”

“Not quite, just checking the wards,” Newt ducked his head and stepped back into the apartment to snatch up his coat and perform the customary protections upon his case; he wanted to take it with him but at the same time he realised that having it near either MACUSA members or an agitated Obscurial – should they find him – was not the best of ideas. 

“No rush,” Harkaway leant nonchalantly on the wall outside, hands deep in the pockets of a russet trench coat that MACUSA members seemed to favour, the leather worn and a little cracked but clearly cared for. There was something about the man - his casual cockiness, teasing nature and darkened blonde hair perhaps – that could’ve reminded him of Gellert, but it didn’t. Newt felt at ease with the man outside, not herded in or trapped as he did before when an unannounced presence came to his door.

Newt glanced around the room one last time, checking to make sure he’d forgotten nothing of importance before hurrying over to the door and joining Harkaway in the hallway, eyeing the door gaugingly before Harkaway let out a huffing laugh and shut it for him. At Newt’s darting look back he explained, “Door doesn’t need a key or nothing, once you’re set as the occupant it’ll know to let you back in and keep everything in it safe. Your creatures’ll be just fine, Scamander.”

“Newt.”

He corrected the address reflexively and Harkaway looked contemplative as they descended the stairs before he commented: “Parents had a sense of humour, then?”

Newt shrugged, used to people commenting on his name and its perhaps incidental link to his chosen profession, and Harkaway’s grin widened, “You used to work with Dragons during the war, right? Got on with ’em like a house on fire. Or maybe not on fire, I spose’ they must’ve thought you were one of ’em.” 

Newt snorted a little, nodding along as they reached the street level.

“Many creatures are very protective once they accept someone into their family. As for the rest,” he paused, thinking sadly of all the burnt flesh and accidental deaths of his colleagues in wartime Ukraine, “…the rest of the squad didn’t seem to understand. They considered the Ironbellies from an entirely clinical perspective, as though if they only understood their biology, then they could successfully control them. Needless to say, it didn’t work out too well. Although I feel I may have been adopted into their clan without entirely meaning so. The younglings are fully grown now, they hatched and grew mostly in the time I was with them. Can’t help but wonder if they remember me enough to miss me…like I do them…its an odd sort of thing, Dragon’s family bonds but some of the strongest I’ve felt…”

He quickened his step as they approached the area of fence bordering Central Park, eager to let the energy and cold distract him and to get on with finding Credence before more uninformed people caused harm to an innocent. As much as he might trust Percival and, to an extent, Harkaway, he wasn’t so sure about the rest of them. Not after what they did to Credence in the very same city years before. They obliterated him even when the man they thought was their Director of security ordered them not to. Fear could make people do horrible things.

“See what I mean? Particular way of looking at things, you have. Should’ve called you a dragon rather than a Newt, eh?” Harkaway joked, seeming to sense a little of his companion’s unease and changing the direction of the conversation along with a slight nudge in the right geographical direction, walking them west rather than the direction Newt remembered the Woolworth building being. He frowned a little, slowing his pace slightly but not questioning it just yet, he could still apparate away should he find anything truly amiss. Harkaway noted his discomfort again – disarmingly fast. “We’re heading to that church that Barebone lived in while he was growing up, we’ve been skirting around actually checking it out for a while cause of the New New Salamers.”

“New New Salamers?” Newt questioned with a raised brow and Harkaway nodded grimly.

“After that Barebone bitch bit-it, a new lot moved in a few months later, they’ve been trickier to handle as they’re connected to a faction of fairly well-informed Witch hunters and haven’t been as clueless as their predecessors. But at the same time, they’ve been going kind of medieval with their tactics of any poor bastards they _do_ catch,” he tilted his head, expression darkened though vigilant "lost an Auror or two to their damn cult. Just disappeared for a couple days and then turned up burned. Nasty business, but the New New Salamers are making it difficult to do anything about it as they keep very deliberately in the public eye so people’d notice if they went missing.”

“You haven’t just obliviated the lot of them?” Newt asked, half scornful and half genuinely curious and Harkaway shrugged, shaking his head wearily.

“Too many threads of ’em at the moment to get ’em all at once, and we don’t want to risk having to attempt another city-wide obliviating ’cause of how fast news gets round these days.” He offered Newt a rueful grin, “Not that we really could do that sort of thing again without your help and whatever Morgana-impressive concoction you used.”

Newt gave a short, awkward laugh “Frank did most of the work and if he’s safe and happy in Arizona then I’m not going to disturb him unless I have to.” 

“Hopefully it ain’t gonna come to that,” Harkaway assured him before pausing at a street corner and sighing, turning to Newt and offering an arm, “You know what, it’d be easier to apparate from here.”

Newt took the proffered arm, giving the Auror a surprised look, “Why didn’t you suggest it earlier?”

Harkaway shrugged.

“Figured you’d had enough of people taking liberties with ya already after seeing what that Boche bastard was like. But then I also figured that coddlin’ ain't gonna do much good neither.” 

Newt tilted his head and nodded infinitesimally, and they vanished with a crack from the quieter edge of an alley they’d paused in, reappearing seconds later in a similarly secluded area but this time near a familiar building that he’d seen in the Death Potion MACUSA had nearly submerged Tina in. It was tall, dark and imposing, with a surprising amount of activity going on both outside and in. People – Muggles presumably – were bustling in and out, some hanging banners with broken wands being dropped into flames. Others dressed in imposingly bulky looking white coats. Almost like old- fashioned surgeon’s whites but some charred about the sleeves with ominous traces of ash and even some of blood. It was clearly a warning sort of garb. No need for subtlety. Newt did not take it for a good sign that they weren’t hiding from either Muggle or wizarding authorities. Too brazen to be comforting at all. There was a smattering of normally-dressed people gathered too, some listening to the criers and others simply watching the activity with mild interest.

The criers were spouting similar things that Mary-Lou Barebone had years before, but the man caller held a meaner look to his dark, grizzled frame, a veteran by the looks of him if the amputated arm and haunted, steely eyes were anything to go by. He injected promises of brutality into mangled sections of bible scripture, intermingling quotes of vengeance and anti-witch propaganda. The free will of good folk was being usurped and stolen by heathens with more power than god should’ve ever given to anything. That power corrupted and that magic was no different, that it was the work of worse forces than the devil – bureaucrats and warmongers alike claiming dominion over the wills of all.

It was all rather worryingly accurate. Clearly, whoever was now truly in charge of the New New Salamers knew more than their predecessors.

“So, you think that Credence would really come back here?” Newt asked, brows raised “The…what were they? ‘New New Salamers….?’ Would be pretty difficult to get around even in his human form.”

“Actually, we originally were calling ’em the New York New New Salamers but it got to be even more of a mouthful,” Harkaway told him and Newt sighed pointedly, stepping back further to avoid being walked into by passers-by and as there was a pop of apparition mere feet away. Percival appeared in his customary smart dress and dark sweep of coat, looking irritated as he regarded Newt and Harkaway. 

“You were meant to bring him to headquarters first, Harkaway, so I could explain.”

The Auror in question shrugged unrepentantly. “Figured it’d make more sense just to dive in and show him what we were dealing with, with the religious nut No-Majs.”

Percival rolled his eyes but otherwise seemed to retain his professionalism and didn’t bother commenting further on the matter. He gestured for both wizards to follow him further back from the street, casting disillusionment charms upon the three as he did so. “You should be more covert; you know that they’re already suspicious of being watched.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I cast a couple of ‘Notice me not’s the second we landed, no No-Majs were gonna see us.”

“I did though, and that’s enough for you to get you both in trouble,” Percival reprimanded, glaring at the other until he felt his Director’ly duties were achieved and Harkaway nodded.

“Anyway, as I was saying before, do you honestly think that Credence would come here? It seems pretty unlikely. He was beaten and abused here for years, his adoptive mother is dead and I don’t see these ‘New New Salamers’ caring for any of the children who were living here before,” Newt glanced at the crowd, scanning faces and seeing none that were familiar, and no one younger than perhaps seventeen. There was one lad with pale, empty eyes and even paler hair, straw-like and unkempt around his thin face, but he was unfamiliar. There were none of the same drably clad children from before. He winced a little as he thought of Gellert’s tip and asked, “What happened to the two girls he grew up with, that the mother claimed?”

“Modesty and Chastity Barebone,” Percival supplied, expression grim. “Chastity was the middle child. She died when Credence wrecked most of the church. Modesty survived, and would be about ten now, but we don’t know what happened to her after the church was destroyed.”

“If anyone would know where she went it would probably be the folk who took over the church,” Harkaway interjected and Percival nodded. Newt, who felt as though they were simply rehashing for his sake, attempted to move things forward himself. 

“If you think that she was here then I’m assuming you spoke to the New Salamers to try to get answers from them? What did they tell you?”

“The ones we managed to talk to didn’t know anything and they’re rather strict about who they let in. We don’t know how but it seems that a fair few of them have been trained mentally to resist influencing magic.”

Newt’s brows rose incredulously. He knew it was possible to resist invasive magic if you worked hard enough at it in the right way but he’d never heard of a Muggle – let alone a group of them – learning to do anything like that. “How many?” 

“We’re not sure, but the ones we’ve brought in before have either genuinely been clueless on the topic or were able to resist more magical methods,” Percival told him. “With our efforts stretched over the States and internationally both to find Credence, Grindelwald and sort out internal issues, we’ve not put as much force into the New Salamers as might be prudent. I don’t want to hurt anyone and Picquery isn’t yet authorising the use of excessive force on them which I agree with, as No-Majs have every right to express their views as we do.”

“How very progressive of you,” Newt muttered, in that same half- bitterness and half- understanding as before. Percival spared him a brief, unreadable side-glance before Newt continued in clearer tones. “How d’ you suppose I can help with this?” 

“Well, if Credence is in the city and he’s scared or angry then there’s a big chance that he might lose control at some point. Also, we thought you’d have some ideas where someone might go to hide, the sorts of places that he’d think he could go and be safe.”

“I don’t know the city all that well, you know that.”

“No, but you know more about Obscurials and creatures that want to hide. Give us some ideas and we’ll try to fill in the blanks. You knew Credence better than I. He seemed to like you and he would trust you more than he would me or mine. You tried to help him before, he might believe that you only mean well for him.”

Newt ducked his head, thinking for a few moments before venturing in soft, sad tones, “When the Sudanese girl I knew escaped her family, she tried to find somewhere isolated, she ran into the wilderness, a cave and tried to hide. Tried to repress what was inside her so that she couldn’t hurt anyone else.” He paused, thinking further, “Credence knows the city and he knows his sister…proceeding from the Woolworth building where he transformed, which way did he go?”

“East,” Percival replied, watching him carefully as Newt mulled the information, trying to think of a place that two angry, scared, repressed children would go...But then it occurred to him and he looked up with a jerk, startling both of his companions slightly.

“He wouldn’t go after Modesty. He wouldn’t want to risk hurting her after what he did to his mother and Chastity. He wouldn’t want to stay in a city where all he’d experienced was pain.”

“So you think he escaped just because he was back in New York? That he got overwhelmed and needed to get out. That this wasn’t planned?” Percival followed Newt’s train of thought and the Magizoologist nodded, ducking his gaze with traces of shame lingering in his words as he continued.

“Fight or flight. It’s simple but I think he just followed his instincts,” he paused before offering the next words tentatively due to the guilty source of the hunch, “I don’t think that this was the first time he escaped, either. I think this may have just been the first time he didn’t have help to keep it a secret.” 

“Help from Grindelwald,” Percival supplied, jaw set and eyes dark.

Newt cracked his neck a little, rubbing a hand over it as he nodded minutely, “Not necessarily, but it is likely.”

“Just as we thought,” Harkaway nodded. “But that just leads us back to ‘where would he go’ -- just that this time it's on pure damn instinct.”

“Certainly not here,” Newt muttered, looking around at all the bustle. “Bad memories and too many people. If he was here, you would’ve known about it. It would have been in anger. Not nostalgia or affection for his last remaining family.” 

“Do you have any idea where Tina went?” Percival asked and Newt shook his head dejectedly.

“No, but I don’t think he would’ve gone to her anyway, as much as they bonded. I think that he would know she’d try to get him to go back. He was there to get his wand, to become a part of the wizarding world and that was something that she wanted for him…what Ge- Grindelwald made him think he wanted before…when he was impersonating you,” he glanced at Percival apologetically at the unhelpful reminder, but the man remained admirably resolute. Newt swallowed again and continued, “I don’t think Credence would endanger Tina even if he knew where she was. He knew she’d send him back. He…I think he’d think that she’d be ashamed of him for breaking…he sees her as a mother and he’s used to mothers being disappointed in him…”

“So not to Modesty. Not to Tina….” Percival’s frown lines deepened further “That still only leaves Grindelwald…or Dumbledore.”

Newt glanced up, “I don’t know if he trusted Dumbledore enough to go to him.”

“I don’t think that Dumbledore would tell us if he came to him and it’d make sense as to why we couldn’t detect him if he _has_ left the country.” Percival looked at Newt with renewed determination, “When were you last in contact with Dumbledore? Indirectly or not?”

“I told you, Percival, I haven’t heard much from anyone in months. It’s been too risky. The last time I saw Albus was shortly before I saw you at Christmas,” Newt shot an uncomfortable look toward Harkaway, not wanting to admit that he thought that Grindelwald might have visited Newt’s former mentor after their encounter in Berlin.

Both Aurors seemed to catch the look and Harkaway showed some tact for once and put in, “I’m going to go check what’s going on back at base, take care, bossman.”

He slapped both men on the shoulder genially before apparating. 

Newt shook his head with bemusement before Percival’s pointed stare sharpened enough upon him to prompt him to continue.

“I think that Gellert may have visited Dumbledore after he and I met. I don’t think anything spectacular happened or else it would’ve been in the news, I expect.”

“Why would he have gone to Dumbledore, if not to cause trouble?” Percival asked, sceptical but mildly patient and Newt shifted on his feet.

“I may have implied that he had more…unfinished business with Albus. That what he was obsessing over might not have just been his…infatuation with me.”

“And what exactly prompted this sudden burst of insight, Newt?” Percival asked, and Newt found himself regretting the Auror’s inconveniently sharp senses.

“It wasn’t sudden but I felt the need to let him know because he was, uh, he was being…overwhelming again. Nothing really happened, but I made a point to him and for once, he listened to it. It was what made him give me my memories back… I think it helped…”

Percival let out a low growl, “Damnit Newt! Stop trying to help that man. I know you can’t escape him but someone like that is past redemption. No matter how many nice little chats he has with you or his ex, he’s not going to suddenly become a decent human being. Think of what’s he’s done. Do you honestly think that there’s any coming back from evil like that?”

Newt flushed but met the other’s gaze levelly, “I’m not saying that I’m trying to redeem him. I just managed to make him think about what he’d done to others when he was trying to do more harm. He stopped. Isn’t that worth something?”

Percival looked pale with fury but also with traces of horror, a slightly shaking hand coming up to grip Newt’s arm.

“Stopped what, Newt? What was he doing?” 

Newt shook his head mutely, breathing in for seconds more before he replied, evenly, “No worse than he already has done.”

“That’s not an answer, Newt.”

Newt glared, unappreciative of how far Percival was pushing his protective, dominant behaviour, especially as his grip tightened, pushing Newt slightly backwards, the younger man feeling stiflingly trapped between the alley wall and the insistent Auror.

“And you’re not going to get one. The priority right now is finding Credence. That’s what you told me and that’s what I’m here for. If this is all just some elaborate attempt to get to Grindelwald and get back into my life, then I’m not sure I’m going to oblige you by sticking around much longer.” 

Percival’s jaw tightened and his nostrils flared slightly, grip tightening momentarily again before releasing Newt entirely and taking a measured step back and straightening himself. The Auror façade slipping back into place smooth as glass. “You’re right, of course. I apologise.”

Newt nodded, eyes hard and feeling a slight tremor run through him as he stepped around the Auror, not appreciating being herded into a wall in the way he had been. He doubted that Percival meant him harm, but flickers of odd fears arose in him at the pressure and harsh tones, the closeness. He turned back once he’d collected himself a little, meeting Percival’s stare brashly, “What’s our next move?”

“I would appreciate it if you could alleviate my…suspicions of Dumbledore, at least by contacting him. I don’t believe that he’d be as inclined to lie to you about this as he would to MACUSA.”

Newt nodded. “I can do that, though I can’t promise he’ll be direct in his reply.”

“For now, that’s all I’m asking on this front.”

“On this front?” Newt echoed, the question clear in his tone, and Percival nodded.

“Grindelwald is still the main suspect but if you truly believe that this time Credence left of his volition, then I’d wager he’s scared, he’s alone and he needs a friend.”

“You want me to reach out to him?”

Percival nodded again, “It’ll be difficult as you’re not exactly meant to be a free man yourself, but I think we can work ways around it if you can maybe give us general ideas of anything he’d expect to hear from you and somewhere he might go.”

Newt hesitated for only a few moments before he sighed and scrubbed a weary hand through his hair, scraping his coppery fringe out of his eyes before suggesting, “Would it not simply be easier to send out a more general notice? To let everyone know I’m here. Credence would be more likely to hear it sooner, and he’d also likely feel less suspicious of my motives if I were a fellow fugitive. I’ve already got a bounty on my head back home, why not just leak it out to your people here?”

“Newt-” Percival started angrily, before exhaling in resignation, “have you developed some sort of damned death wish since I last saw you? This is only going to bring trouble. I’ve got no guarantee that the British lot might not get to you even if I’m sending mine off in the wrong directions.”

“I’ve had practice evading the British Ministry, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Still, this would be in the space of one city, not across the globe, and you’ve been running for six months. Newt, don’t you think that they might’ve picked up something of your patterns by now?” 

“Most of them are traipsing the Sahara right now,” Newt admitted. “It’d take them a while to get over here. Especially if you were to somehow slow down their admittance to the city through more traditional means such as Floo or Apparation points. Without emergency authorization, it usually takes a week or two to come through and with no authorization, they’d have to take Muggle transport which’d be at least a month.”

A sly smile crept onto Percival’s stern face, “That I could do. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’d know about things like that by now.”

“I picked up their habits more than they picked up mine,” Newt offered a tight smile before cocking his head. “So do you agree to it? It’s my life I’m risking, and even if I do end up getting locked up, at least Gellert’ll probably have a harder time getting to me. Who knows, you might actually end up catching him that way.”

The words were meant as a joke to lighten the tension that had fallen between them but Percival’s eyes narrowed still, though thankfully didn’t comment on it and instead nodded, “I’ll see to it that the word gets out that you’re here, but I’ll emphasise that you’re not to be hurt. Just brought in. Not top priority, just known.”

“Thank you,” Newt said before a thought struck him. “Will I have to leave the safehouse now?”

Percival ducked his head slightly, looking a tad abashed, “It’s not actually an official MACUSA sanctioned safehouse. It’s a personal one. I’ve had to move in the city a few times over the years due to various reasons, and the apartment you’re in now was the next one I had lined up just in case,” Newt wanted to be taken aback at the gesture but at this point, it felt strangely predictable that the Auror would put himself out like this, though Newt didn’t appreciate the coddling any more because of it.

“What about Grindelwald?” Newt’s head jerked up at the words and Percival elaborated “Won’t this make you more…visible to him?”

“I told you I haven’t seen him since Berlin. He might really have decided to leave me alone for a while.” The lie sounded weak even to his own ears and Percival regarded him so sceptically that Newt sighed, “Okay, maybe not, but he’s been able to find me wherever I go. Alerting him probably isn’t going to change much.”

“And here you were saying you didn’t want to be psychotic prick bait.”

Newt flinched at the terminology but forced a shrug, “Only when it was going to get more people killed than saved. If this draws out Credence and gets him to safety, then it might just be worth it. As much as I trust Credence, I’m worried what this pressure might do to him. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting anyone else.”

“If you’re sure about this.”

Newt nodded, “As I said, I’m already a target. We may as well use it.”

Percival seemed to deflate a little and Newt mused momentarily on how bad the situation must truly be for two senior Aurors who were personally invested in him to agree to use him as bait, albeit at his own suggestion. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Percival arched a dark brow, “Apart from contacting the reclusive Albus Dumbledore to admit if he’s harbouring a dangerous timebomb of unrealised magic potential and placing yourself under public and Ministerial scrutiny to draw said timebomb out on the hunch that he’s still in the city?” he huffed an exhausted laugh. “No, I think that’s all for now.” 

Newt nodded crisply, “Alright then, if that’s all then I’ll be back to my case. Starktail’s wing is still in need of checking and therapy a couple of times a week, and a batch of Ashwinders are hatching. Plus, I still need to check on the Phoenix to see what’s got his feathers so ruffled lately.”

“Send that smarmy bastard of a bird my love, will you,” the Auror quipped, offering a half-hearted mock salute before apparating.

Newt felt the charms lift from him as Percival left and he stepped out into the street, walking briskly with the intent of finding somewhere that might perhaps sell crickets, straw bedding and maybe a butcher looking to sell off cheaper cuts of offal to feed to the carnivores amongst his friends. He knew that being out in public was a risk but after employing a few subtle charms of his own to make himself less noticeable to the casual observer, Newt felt relatively safe making his way through the various shops he sought. Whilst the crickets were a bust, he did manage to get the straw and offcuts from a pet shop and off-street butchers respectively. He was just tucking the paper packages into his coat pockets, walking back towards the safehouse, when he felt something very heavy and hard knock into the side of his head.

A rainbow of black, red and white flashed before Newt’s eyes as he fell. 

**A/N - hey people, hope this was okay, I'm getting a bit more back into writing but I'm still gonna be swamped with deadlines between now and May but I'll try to update whenever I can. **


	11. Ignite

**“My belly is black, and, red, black and red...**

**It's like you're meant to be a hostage, another hostage, will eat you alive…**

**When you flirt it makes me nauseous, I'm fucking nauseous and I'll eat you alive…**

**Inflamed, in every other way**

**In every other way**

**Look down, I'm strung to your ribcage**

**Inhale, the splinters and the rain**

**The splinters and the rain**

**Look down, I'm strung to your ribcage.” – ‘Strung to your ribcage’ – Biffy Clyro **

Newt drifted in and out of something close to consciousness for some time, feeling nothing and seeing even less, not really registering his minor alertness at all before his senses were assaulted by sharp, sudden cold. He jolted, eyes barely opening but feeling cold rivulets dripping down him, tracing bare skin and plastering his hair to him in a cloying mask that he shook his head numbly to try to rid himself of, but only managing a vague twist and lolling of his leaden head and his rubber neck. The young Magizoologist wanted to drift back into the darkness but the cold had done its job of taking that away from him. He was still mostly numb but his eyes slid open after some time, prompted to do so when a stinging sensation rippled through him, the coldness intensifying the pain in his face. A slap. He’d been slapped. Why was someone slapping him? That wasn’t a very nice thing to do. He let out a low groan, trying to voice his dissatisfaction and desire to go back into the numbness rather than listen to the sound of voices that filtered in and out of his comprehension with irritating arbitrariness. 

“-pletely out of it, Job, think the boy hit him too damn hard.”

“Not my fault, barely anything on ’im!”

“It doesn’t matter now, what matters now is getting answers before everyone gets congregated later.”

Newt shook his head to one side again, succeeding in peeling back his aching lids to see a group of blurry figures below him. Men, he thought, maybe three or possibly six, no three, he was seeing double it seemed. Oh dear, that didn’t seem too good. The images weaved in and out for a while longer before they too settled into something that he imagined was closer to the truth. A tall man; grizzled and grey. Another young, thin, frail-looking with gaunt eyes framed in straw-coloured hair. The third unassuming, dark-haired and plain, shabby-looking in worn Sunday dress. They were looking at each other but the grey man glanced his way and glared when he saw that Newt was aware. He stepped forward and Newt was confused when, even at a closer distance, he still appeared to be below him. He looked down at his own feet, reason coming a little too slow as he saw the wooden platform he was stood on, or rather slumped, as he wasn’t using his legs. They weren’t listening to him any more than the rest of him was. Then why was he upright, he must be leaning on something, he supposed, and Newt tried to push back from it, expecting a wall but shocked and dismayed to find his motion severely limited and only feeling a rough wooden pole under his trapped fingers.

“Awake at last? Don’t you worry, you’ll be just fine plenty soon. You’ll be cleansed of your evil after you’ve answered our questions and you need not worry anymore.”

Newt frowned, his face not really feeling the movement as he tried to process the words spoken. Evil? Cleansed of it? That didn’t sound so bad but the way the man said it told him otherwise. It didn’t sound right. Newt raised his bleary gaze from his battered boots to scan up his frame and was further dismayed to see coarse, thick rope wrapped around the upper part of his torso, worryingly bare underneath. He was tied to a pole. On a wooden frame. Something refused to shake loose in his aching head. Something important that was linked to those two things. All his shattered attention could focus upon however was a recollection of white-blonde hair, tight bonds, the smell of singed flesh burning his nostrils almost as much as his actual skin.

That’s when it clicked. Burning flesh.

He could see torches now, staked into the ground, far away but close enough to be of significant danger to the pitch soaking his standing place and the gasoline he now smelt soaking him. What had been thrown over him to so rudely waken him. 

These people were going to burn him.

They were going to _burn him_.

They were part of the New New Salemers, no doubt, and though Newt’s memory was still unbearably fuzzy, it was able to dredge up recent events and the Church and Credence flew to the forefront. He jerked against his bonds once more but this time with more force than before, more purpose and looked about desperately at the room, taking in decayed, delipidated walls and a dark sky beyond the cracked ceiling of charred wood.

He heard a low chuckle, not amused but scornful, “You got it yet then, witch?”

Newt blinked at the word, shaking his pained head numbly, “I’m not-”

There were only a quick two steps of warning before his head was spinning all over again, jerked to one side as the grey man’s hand met the side of his face with immediate fury. He gasped and gritted his teeth against the nausea threatening to overwhelm him and swallowed several times to prevent the bile from evacuating. Merlin’s beard, concussion injuries really were the pits.

The man grabbed his hair, unhelpfully tugging his head back to meet with the pole with a harsh crack and the man leaned closer, hissing words right in Newt’s bloodied face, “Lies won’t help you, boy, I know what you are. We saw you appearing and vanishing from thin air and collecting your damned witchcraft ingredients.”

“They weren’t-”

Another blow and this time Newt tasted blood. He’d bitten his tongue. His lip was split too and he settled for silently regarding the older man instead, realising that arguing with this man was probably pointless. Zealots were lower on his list of likes than concussions, and that was saying something. 

“What did I just say, witch?”

Newt kept silent, examining his own feet and the man smirked, seeming to mistake Newt’s natural instincts for deference or subservience, and Newt was content to let him. He began weighing his options. He didn’t have his wand but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take these Muggle zealots out, or at the very least escape them. The only issue with such a plan lay in the fact that he would be demonstrating undeniable proof to them that he was, in fact, a wizard, and that magic really did exist. It might make them more aggressive to wizarding kind in general, especially if what Percival had told him was true – that they were resistant to magical manipulation – and, in all honesty, Newt didn’t really want to hurt any of these people. Wherever he could, he avoided detection by Muggles and only obliviated if he really had to. He knew more than most how having someone messing with your head – magically or otherwise, could hurt.

There was no guarantee that if he performed magic, especially less controlled wandless and brain-scattered magic, that these people wouldn’t be hurt. But then again, they _were_ trying to burn him alive. 

Newt raised his eyes again to meet the steely ones of the grey man and spoke it a quiet, quick voice, deciding that reasoning could work if it was based in the fear these people clearly had for wizardkind. “Even if I was a witch, as you say, what makes you think that you could keep me prisoner?”

The grey man glared, “We’ve done it before. As I’m sure you know.”

Newt thought back to the reported two Aurors who had been taken and burnt by this group and began to second guess just why they’d been detained for apparently several days before meeting their grisly ends. The grey man seemed to see his contemplation and he nodded almost encouragingly.

“We’re not quite as clueless as the previous faction of Salemers were. They had the faith, yes, but they didn’t have the proper knowledge to get around those MACUSA heathens.”

Newt blinked. “MACUSA?”

“I told you, witch, we’re not ignorant.”

Newt hazarded a guess, “You’ve met wizarding folk before, then? Someone in your family maybe? Perhaps someone who was a close enough relation to you so that MACUSA wouldn’t just obliviate you on the spot?”

The grey man looked irritated by Newt’s insight, fists clenching at his sides. “My brother starting manifesting magical…_talents_-” he spat the word like it was bile, “whilst I was off fighting in the Great War, and his evil ended up burning down our home. Killed seven people. His own family. He was the only survivor and then those MACUSA lot came to collect him. Send him off to some freak cult school. I wasn’t going to let that happen…”

Newt shivered at the venom, surreptitiously testing the restraints around his wrists, trying to find a way to loosen them without magic, not willing to reveal himself beyond all deniability just yet. So far it was just talk, speculation.

“What happened then?”

“I returned and did justice for my family by doing the only thing that any God-fearing man would do. I purified him by fire.” 

Newt let his sore eyelids fall shut in horror and resignation. Clearly, there would be no chance of mercy or sanity from someone who murdered his own brother for powers that were out of his control. He should just get out of here and live with the consequences by…well, actually living. He reached for his magic, to work a simple spell to untie the ropes, nothing too obviously magic, it could’ve been just as easily done by hand had he the leverage. Nothing happened. He took a deep breath, trying to focus past the fuzziness and anguish still lancing through his head. Still nothing. The beginnings of panic began to seep into him but he fought against them, knowing that adding panic to a concussion would help nothing. He looked down at himself again, taking in the perfectly normal rope and wood he was bound with: there wasn’t anything that should be stopping him.

It must just be nerves, the pressure and familiar circumstances, the presence of white-blonde hair and mismatched eyes lingering just beyond his line of sight. He supposed it made sense that his past trauma might finally be catching up with him in repeated misfortunes – that his magic would refuse to aid him. It was not uncommon for people who had undergone trauma to struggle with their magic afterwards, either losing control or losing it altogether. He’d just assumed that as it had been working fine that he wasn’t one of those cases. Newt felt his frustration at himself build, at his inability and at the number of similar situations he had found himself in – it was almost as if the universe itself was testing him, pushing him as far as he could go before he broke. Ever since New York, all he’d experienced had been one ceaseless push, pressure from all sides and now, facing a fate that would be avoidable by any capable witch or wizard, he found himself useless and trapped. He pressed his eyes tight shut, letting his head hit the pole again, thumping it in frustration, breath coming in shakily and harsh, deep but strained.

“Trying to escape, little witch?” Another harsh blow to the face and his eyes flew open, he shook his head minutely.

“What did you do to me?” Newt asked in a hoarse tone, desperate to reach for an explanation that wasn’t that he was weak. That his magic had abandoned him.

“Just borrowed a bit of your kind’s tricks to keep you nice and secure till you can be cleansed,” the grey man commented, gesturing to Newt’s feet and the Magizoologist looked down again, bewildered, before the man helped by tugging up Newt’s left trouser leg to reveal a wide metal band. The metal had been snapped off of a shackle, crudely done by the looks of it, but he recognised the magic in it nonetheless – they were the sort of magic-suppressing manacles that the Ministries used on convicts. Oh, if only he hadn’t left Pickett with his branch today.

“How did you-”

The man snorted derisively, “Your kind aren’t as smart as they like to think, took me in for questioning and thought that their evil mind tricks would be enough to make me forget, but I trained myself, made myself remember and then did the same with the faithful.” He gestured to the pale boy behind him, “Marcus here has been my resounding success and he managed to get outta that big old building of theirs with one of those handy little things.”

Newt stared, horrified comprehension and even a trickle of relief dawning on him – he was still trapped, yes, but at least now he knew why. He raised his head in new defiance then; “I thought you said magic was evil? You’re using magic now.”

The man looked irked but shook it off in brash fashion, “Destroying evil sometimes requires evil. Just using your own tactics against you. I’m a man who appreciates irony almost as much as punishing the wicked, you see.” 

“Flawless logic,” Newt muttered, unable to stop himself and braced himself for another blow but was surprised when it did not come. The grey man regarded him for several moments before gripping Newt’s face between thumb and fingers, squeezing just enough to make the red marks sting with an eye-watering resurgence.

“We’ll silence you for good soon enough, witch, but first you’re going to answer a few questions.”

Newt fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead tugged his face from the man’s grip and spoke in a firm tone, “I’m not part of MACUSA. I don’t know anything that would be any use to you and you aren't going to get anything from me so it might be in your best interests to let me go.” 

“That's not on the table. You’re going to burn either way, whether you know anything or not, it’s just how much pain it’ll take you to get there. The pyre is your one certainty.”

Newt felt fear pushing through his earlier relief at having discovered the source of his helplessness – no matter its reason, he was trapped for the time being. He hated, truly _hated_ being in these situations. Where he was waiting like some damsel from a fairy tale to be rescued. All he could do was hope that Harkaway or Percival noticed he was gone. They’d been watching the Salemers, surely, they would know what happened soon? Though, thinking about it, he realised that it had taken them days before they realised that the other Aurors had gone missing. And they were most likely on much stricter, tracked schedules than he was. 

He was glad, for perhaps the first time, that he had extensive experience with both physical and mental torture. Newt just hoped that whatever these zealots were planning didn’t trigger any memories that would consume him. It had happened before but judging by the fact that he was still feeling the mismatched eyes upon him from the very furthest edges of his vision, Newt was not feeling optimistic.

Stalling further then.

“What exactly is it that you want to know?”

The man gave a grim smile, seeming to think that Newt was genuinely breaking so quickly, “What the hell was that thing that destroyed half of the city two years ago?”

Newt blinked, startled by the fact that there were actually asking something he knew a great deal about…and that he remembered the event after the mass obliviations and the reconstruction of the city. He supposed this meant that they weren’t aware of Credence, that he was the one responsible and that he might’ve had ties to the church they now owned – they probably didn’t realise that the one who had destroyed most of the building and killed most inside was in fact once one of their own. Newt was tempted to ask of Modesty and Credence’s fate, whether the girl was still with the Salemers, but didn’t want to risk endangering either to this group of quite obviously dangerous extremists. Even if he only mentioned Modesty, they might assume her to be a witch, too, and that was clearly a bad thing to be considered around here.

Instead, he focussed on speaking clearly and with a little challenging lightness to his tone, staring down the older man, “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you, not from around here in case you hadn’t noticed. Thought the accent might’ve been a dead giveaway.”

The grey man didn’t seem to appreciate his attempt at evasion or humour and made a signal to the dark-haired man behind him who silently passed him what looked to be a leather belt. As the grey man stepped closer with it draped across both hands, Newt saw with some apprehension that it was lined with metal barbs. A cilice. A metal one at that. He was beginning to understand what Percival had been referring to when he said that these New Salemers, had gone medieval. His History of Magic lessons blurred before his disbelieving eyes, brutal torture methods inflicted and though death was often avoided by the simple use of a Flame Freezing charm so that the witches simply screamed in fake anguish and apparated one the smoke obscured the Muggles views. It had somewhat been a source of humour for the class at the time but now, faced with the torture methods and death by flames with no way to escape it, it seemed much less funny to Newt. 

The grey man came forward, going down onto one knee and his hand swiftly going to the buckle of Newt’s belt. He froze, abject terror flooding him and then he couldn’t stop moving, twisting, writhing and pulling against his bindings as hard as he could but was unable to prevent the man from unfastening first the belt and then the trousers themselves. Newt found his mouth working on autopilot, his slurring words blurring in almost unintelligible pleas. He didn’t even register the words tumbling from his mouth but he knew they went unheeded as the material was pulled down his legs, pooling at his feet, dragged roughly off and the man reaching to pry his thighs apart. It only abated his panic a little when the man’s hand only worked to separate his left leg from the other, not to reach higher, not _to touch_…he pressed his eyes shut again, focussing solely on the calming tactics he’d honed for so long. Trying his best to ignore the feel of a man’s hand on his bare thigh, pulling and holding as he prepared to wrap the cilice around the exposed flesh. 

The grey man tapped harshly against one knee, prompting the Magizoologist to look down, flinching as he witnessed his nearly completely naked form but managed to focus on the man’s hard, satisfied, angry eyes.

“Focus, witch, I want you present. No use losing it just yet. Now, are you going to answer my question?”

He wrapped the cilice loosely around Newt’s leg, not applying much pressure just yet, only letting the tiny metal hooks rest on the skin, threatening and just pricking the surface with a hundred small stings.

Newt got a hold of his breathing and scattered thoughts just enough to offer a weary, scared smile, “T-told you…n-not sure I’m going to be of any use to- ahhhh!” He was cut off with a cry as the grey man tightened the cilice abruptly, cinching it tighter by pulling the leather strap through its buckle and Newt could feel all the little hooks burrowing into the sensitive flesh. He panted desperately, trying further to calm his reactions to both the pain and the exposure, to the familiar sensation of invading pain that penetrated his flesh like fire…the gasoline soaking his skin making it burn all the more...leaking and aching... 

_“Newt!” _

His head snapped up, looking around uncomprehendingly, searching desperately for whoever had called his own name so harshly, with such anger and concern. None of the men present had called him anything but ‘witch’ or ‘boy’ since he arrived here and he doubted that they would start doing otherwise even if they knew his name. The white-silver shimmer on the edges of his vision widened, brightened and he could swear that the feel of mismatched eyes intensified, sharpened and focussed upon him. Not by way of memory though, or at least he didn’t think so, he didn’t know, couldn’t be sure…his head hurt so damn much…the agony spiked behind his eyes and even as the cilice was pulled tighter through the next buckle of the strap, pushing the barbs ever deeper, he cried out more for the fire in his brain.

Newt couldn’t even hear the repeated question from the grey man, his angry demands or his insistent tightening of his grip and the device…nothing past the torture radiating within his skull. There it was again though, the furious voice calling out to him,

_“NEWT! Focus.” _

This time he was able to focus enough to understand and also to recognise the voice.

“Gellert…”

His attention was brought back to the grey man, however, when the man suddenly jabbed something sharp, pointed and white-hot into his shoulder and he choked on a scream, eyes snapping open again to fix on the man’s expectant face. “What’s that then, boy? A name? A friend?”

Newt shook his head blearily, uncomprehending, lost in the triple points of pain in his leg, shoulder and head.

The man jabbed Newt with what he now recognised as a heated poker, deeper into the tender flesh and muscle of his shoulder joint and he whined, low and pathetic in his throat, too out of it to be ashamed of such a noise or how quickly he had been submerged in his own suffering…he thought he’d been more practised than this…better…stronger…he’d been trained well enough after all…like a pet…

_“My pet?” _

The snide, slightly self-satisfied, relishing voice was enough to help him push back against the despair clawing at him as he shouted his denial aloud, “NO!”

_“There we go. Enough of this. Concentrate.” _

He was confused still, utterly perplexed but decided that as whatever the voice was - Gellert himself somehow communicating with him or just his own agony-induced imagination fuelled by a psychotic break – he should probably listen to it as it was making sense. Odd that the voices in his head always actually seemed to be trying to help him, he thought idly, though he supposed that the last had been the blood-bond, trying to keep its host alive.

“There’s no point trying to fight this, witch,” the grey man was talking again, presumably responding to the denial he thought had been aimed at him by twisting the scorching poker within Newt’s shoulder until he stilled once more. He was panting, breathing harshly but managing to focus his shattered sight as a foreign calm slipped over him. He didn’t care where it came from or why, Newt gripped onto it and glared at the grey man with all the focus he had left. “What was it that wrecked the city? What damned demon did it? How did most forget what I saw with my own damn eyes?”

Newt fought to keep a straight face but his lips twitched up in a hazy, deadened, taunting smile as his heavy lids drifted lower over his aching eyes, “M-maybe God’s j’st angry with you…”

The man let out a snarl and Newt could’ve sworn that he heard a corresponding laugh-snarl ring in his head before the grey man tugged the cilice as tight as it would go. Bright, wet blood spurted forth from the crushed, perforated appendage with the force used to join the buckle with the final hole on the leather section of the cruel metal device, locking it in place. Newt gritted his teeth, hissing through them harshly, but didn’t let any more of his distress show than in every single taught fibre of his being, straining involuntarily against the ropes again. 

“Enough of your blasphemy! You know something, you must! If not, then it’s just the pyre left for you, boy! Is that what you want?”

“Not ‘specially…” Newt murmured, half out of himself and half into the odd, nice calm that lingered with the silver-whiteness.

“Then answer me.” The words were hissed closer, the poker twisted deeper and Newt’s eyes were fluttering shut again. He didn’t have the energy for this…not any more…each time he thought his pain was coming to an end…or at least a middle…it began afresh…surged anew. That didn’t seem fair to him. 

“S’no point…n-not like you c’d do an’ting even if you knew…”

The man sighed then, a weary, furious sound and withdrew the poker with a disgustingly audible slurping sound. Newt retched, feeling nausea and something hot and vile pressing at the space between his throat and the area that had been stabbed. The young Magizoologist gagged again, this time blood flecking his lips and dribbling down his chin, disgusting coppery and shining red…so much red...dripping down his thighs, from his mouth…pounding in his skull…it brought him too close back to _that_ place… 

The burned-out building disappeared as his eyes drooped, his head filled with cold grey walls…stained with red…stained with worse…filled with panic, shame and the hope that died there…the hope that it would stop before he lost himself…that someone would save him…the rescue that never came…the comfort that came too late…the comfort that came from the wrong person…it all hurt…

_“No, Newton! You are not going to give up now. I have put too much work into you for you to be killed now by some deluded Muggle zealots! You will fight this and you will live.” _

Newt found himself nodding, barely a bob of his drooping head from where his chin met his chest but an agreement that seemed to be sensed nonetheless as Gellert’s fierce tones continued.

_“Think, you’ve been in enough Ministry custody to know how these cuffs work, their weaknesses...what you can do...now do it! You only have to hold out a little longer. I’m close.” _

Newt forced his eyes open, seeing the men stood further back now, conversing in low tones – tactics no doubt, stepping aside to allow a number of other Muggles into the building past them. Perhaps thirty more men and women dressed in what looked like a drab version of their Sunday best – like the ones at the church – entered. Newt swallowed thickly at the similarities with the Paris Rally that the sight stirred in him, a familiar dislike of being the centre of a group of devoted, deluded sadists’ attention. There were eyes on him, scornful and some even fearful – though fearful of his state or of what he was, Newt didn’t know. 

He didn’t let it bother him, diverting his attention down to his ankle, the manacled one that was the source of his weakness…or at least in magical terms, that was. The edge, the edge where it was snapped away from the other manacle and the chain, it would be weaker than a normal manacle would be, half the enchantment as it was only half the runes that completed the total binding. These Muggles wouldn’t know that, just thinking that they had enough of it to work. It was still enough to discourage and trap magic on lower levels but if he forced enough through it with both magical and physical force at the same time, he might just be able to get it off himself. Keeping careful eyes on the conversing men sat at the back of the burnt-out hall, he began slipping off his right boot, thanking his habits of loose-lacing as he got it off fairly easily and used the increased dexterity of his bare foot to begin pushing at the ridges of connected metal to his other foot, trying to prise it open whilst simultaneously pulling deep on his magical core for the power he needed. Newt knew from experience that wandless or spontaneous bursts of power were often results of heightened emotion – fear, anger and the like.

Thankfully, Newt had a long pent-up supply of both. 

He let his resentment, his terror, his humiliation, his raw, bloody guilt flood him, feeling his muscles clench and shudder with the force of it, his heart hammering in his chest, blood pounding like a Graphorn stampede in his ears…pressure building in his eyes and the increase in his heart rate speeding the flow of blood leaving his body…he had to be quick…or else risk passing out. Newt could feel the blood pulsing hot and wet from his leg under the cilice, the barbs ripping into the tender flesh, making it feel like the whole appendage was throbbing with a fiery, numb intensity…the fire in his shoulder that matched it only by the feel of torn muscle and shredded flesh twitching uncontrollably in minute spasms as he breathed his agony…the humiliation of being captured, exposed, hurt and threatened whilst Credence was still out there, alone, afraid and on the edge of another outburst that could hurt countless more…

He wouldn’t let it happen. Gellert’s voice was right, he wasn’t going to let this be what ended him. Not out of some sense of exaggerated worth or grandeur on his part though, just a promise, a duty that he had to Credence, to his creatures, to Percival, Theseus, Tina and his new nephew. Hell, even to Gellert himself.

He felt it when the shackle and the spells surrounding it snapped apart: it hurt, it ripped through him like a physical shockwave but it did the job. It was gone. Instantly, he let his roiling, stinging magic go to the other bonds, snapping the rope surrounding his torso and wrists with an audible crack. Without the support, Newt dropped to the wooden platform in a pained collapse, falling forward onto his hands and knees and hissing in further pain as his cilice-dressed thigh seared in further anguish at the abrupt contact.

“What have you done, witch?” The grey man shouted. He had come to the forefront of the congregation as a parishioner to his flock, no doubt to condemn Newt, but now he was looking furious and even a little scared. Newt tried to stand, forcing himself up, clutching his injured shoulder’s arm close to his side and leaning heavily away from his injured leg’s side, veering backwards as he staggered, unfortunately only finding the pyre pole to support him. The grey man advanced on him, stepping up to the wooden stand, stopping just in front of it and pointing at Newt in obvious accusation, “I don’t know what foul magic you turned to for your escape but it won’t do you any good, boy. You burn all the same!”

He reached for one of the torches staked into the ground nearby. This time, however, Newt didn’t hesitate to retaliate – throwing out a hand to the man, sending him sprawling back, thumping hard into a number of the congregation behind him. Unfortunately, one of the quicker members, a woman with a sallow face and lank blonde hair, scooped up the dropped torch and threw it at Newt’s feet, the pitch soaked wood went up immediately and Newt only had a second of horror before his gasoline-soaked form followed. He screamed, feeling the fire scorch up his exposed feet and legs, searing the flesh and causing unimaginable agony as he stumbled, the wood around him going up as he himself did. Newt forwent the more magical means of escape and simply threw himself forward, thumping to the dirt floor of the hall and out of the quickly-consumed wooden structure, rolling swiftly away to help dampen the flames that had erupted on him. He felt more magic leak out of him despite no conscious decision for it to do so and the flames were quelled further, halting them before they reached higher than his thighs but still, he rolled, trying to escape his own suffering. The sound that escaped him was not human as something embedded in the dirt floor - perhaps a nail, splinter or twig, he neither knew nor cared – hooked into the now burning hot metal loops of the cilice and tugged it harshly tighter into his skin as he tried to roll away. Not only that, but the pressure on the burns sent further whiteness flooding through his vision.

Newt wasn’t sure how long he lay there. Blanked out everything. Feeling, sight, sound, smell. Everything gone. Felt better that way.

Then, there were hands on him, dragging him over, carefully but with urgency if the tension in fingers gripping his uninjured shoulder was any gauge. He groaned, not wanting to come back to himself just yet but the grip was too cool, too welcome against his feverish bare skin to ignore. The sensation sent both welcome and fearful shivers through him, his eyes rolled back into his skull, barely slitting open enough to see a vague glimpse of a dark, smoke-stained roof, patches of sky breaking through like the pain was breaking through him. There was a sharp tapping on his face, a subtle hand carding through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead before peeling back his eyelids invasively one at a time to check his eyes. Newt moaned again, trying to turn away from the contact, the unwanted light and sight. He wanted to sleep again.

_“No, Newt, stay with me,” _The voice sounded in his head but for once, as Newt’s left eye was continually forced open by insistent fingers, he could see the face that matched the voice. The words hadn’t come from that mouth: they were only in his head, only inside him, but still, Newt could see him. He jerked like a fish caught on a hook, writhing to get away but the wonderfully cool hands stilled him impatiently before he could move much further than an inch away from Gellert’s form hunched over him. There was movement going on behind the looming older wizard but when Newt opened his mouth, whether to address Gellert or else call out for help, Gellert looked at him with laughing eyes, pressing a finger over his own lips in a shushing motion.

_“A single word, Liebling, and I kill everyone left in this building.” _

Newt swallowed down his pleas and just nodded very slightly but was utterly perplexed a moment later when Gellert released his grip, easing Newt back to the ground and looking over his shoulder, calling, “Over here, Director Graves!”

At first, Newt was petrified that the dark wizard was purposefully drawing attention to himself to have an excuse to hurt Percival, but when Percival’s achingly familiar face came into view, he barely gave Grindelwald more than a fleeting nod of acknowledgement before taking Newt’s face in his hands. Newt saw Gellert’s lips curl in distaste as he was forced to release Newt into Percival’s hands. Newt’s head continued to spin, faster and faster and faster in dizzying spirals, attention drifting between the irate, concerned Auror clutching his face and repressed amusement now glimmering in mismatched eyes, not a foot away from him. 

“Newt? Sweetheart? Can you hear me?” Newt couldn’t focus on the American’s soothing tones, too focussed on keeping Gellert at bay, begging him to remain unnoticed and passive with his eyes alone. No matter how hazy his focus was.

_“Don’t say a word and I won’t have to hurt anyone. Now go ahead and reassure your precious pup, Percy.” _

Newt swallowed and looked back to Percival and nodded softly, numbly, doubting his own sanity – what if this wasn’t Gellert, just an Auror who Newt had projected the voice onto? Why else would Percival be ignoring him like this? This couldn’t be the real Gellert in his head, he just finally be completely losing it…all over again…

_“Real or not, sweetness, it’s nice to know that you think of me in your darkest hours.” _Dark humour was woven deep into the thought and whilst Newt shuddered, he saw a mirroring amusement, soft if teasing, on the face of the man who looked to be Gellert.

He tried thinking back in a more cohesive manner,_ “How are you doing this? Why can’t Percival see you?” _

_“He sees what everyone else in the room sees – a trusted Auror assisting his boss. The reason you do not is because I am allowing you to see the truth: that I am truly here, for you, Liebling.” _

_“But how are you doing any of this? How are you in my head again?” _

_“A conversation for another time, don’t you think? Dear Percival seems to be fearing for your sanity, do try to reassure him that it is mostly intact, won’t you, my dear?” _

Newt drew back from his own mind, realising that Percival was staring at him, assessing his injuries with practice and efficiency, but that his eyes repeatedly returned back to Newt’s face, clearly concerned at what he was seeing there. Newt wasn’t entirely conscious of his facial expressions at that moment, but he attempted to meet Percival’s mahogany eyes, conveying reassurance through his own tainted-green. He didn’t trust his voice anymore and was very deliberately avoiding looking down at his own body, not wanting to take in the truth of his situation any more than he had to. It hurt enough without putting a grisly image to match the searing agony. 

Percival put a hand to one shoulder, the uninjured one, and murmured, "Damn it, Newt, how’d you get into these situations?”

Newt tried to offer a weak shrug but the flaring pain all over his body discouraged it and his attempt at a hazy smile turned into a grimace. His face felt like it was set in plastic, every expression felt forced and moulded onto his features. Percival looked decidedly unimpressed by his efforts and Gellert’s apparent exasperated amusement hummed through Newt’s mind.

_“A good enough effort for now, I suppose, Liebling.” _

“Help me get him up, Bennett,” Percival said, addressing the figure that looked like Gellert and the man nodded, manoeuvring one hand under Newt’s back and the other on his uninjured arm as Percival did the same on the other side.

Aloud, Gellert said, “Yes, sir,” but Newt was quite sure that Percival didn’t hear the same derisive humour in the man’s tone that Newt did in his words. The temptation to tell Percival, to warn him of the dark wizard’s proximity was strong, almost overwhelming the closing up of his throat, but he trusted Gellert’s warning. And if this was his own frenzied hallucination, he’d rather not accuse an innocent Auror of being Grindelwald – especially not with how quietly furious Percival currently looked. His eyes were fixed on Newt the whole time, worry radiating off him in waves that Newt felt almost as a physical heat and he could’ve sworn that as Percival shifted him closer to heft his weight he murmured “Not fucking losing you again.”

He barely heard his own sounds of distress as he was levered into an upright position between the two men, half-suspended between Gellert and Percival. Oddly apt, he felt. The thought left him filled with sudden, inexplicable laughter and the sound wheezed from his throat briefly before the look on Percival’s face sobered him, and Newt realized that the hysteria might well have something to do with how funny he found the situation. As they moved him, Newt took the time to look around at the movement he had detected earlier, seeing maybe three other Aurors skirting the scene but it was more the bodies that caught Newt’s attention.

Dozens of them.

Bodies littered the floor of the burnt-out hall: there was no blood but no one was moving. Stunned, he supposed, and found himself wondering why the Aurors had stunned the Muggles instead of simply obliviating them. Maybe they wanted to question them, Newt thought. That made sense. But then why were the Aurors looking at him so oddly? Their stares felt laden with more significance than his wounded state merited. Newt didn’t have enough focus left in him to care, however, and he let his eyes drift to half-mast, what sight remained only hazily taking in his own half-booted state. He hoped his boot would be alright without him. The shoes had taken a lot of maltreatment over the years and he felt an odd pang of loss at one being gone – no doubt burned, he mused. Boy, his head was really throbbing now. 

“-and we’re just going to apparate now. Newt, you still with me?” the words startled him as they seemed to phase out of nowhere for him and he nodded numbly, head dropping and muscles going lax, knowing from experience that apparating with tension in injured muscles hurt like hell. Being pressed through a tube – no matter how familiar a sensation – was agonising and his limp limbs relied completely upon the two human supports as they pulled him forward. Once they landed, Newt looked around blearily and saw that they were in a drab, dim hallway, outside a door which Percival regarded for a few seconds before manoeuvring Newt up a little more and pressed the Magizoologist’s palm flat to the door, stepping into a familiar space once he did so.

He felt himself settle down onto something soft but firm, a bed, he supposed, hearing steps move around him, thumping over wood and back again before something cool and bitter-smelling was pressed against his forehead. Newt hissed as the coolness touched his forehead but soon relaxed into it as he realised that the Auror was just washing the blood and dried gasoline from his skin.

“Get in here,” Newt jerked under the touch, thinking that Percival’s bark was aimed at Gellert – that he was unwittingly inviting him in, but as he peeled back his lids he saw Harkaway stepping over the threshold instead and whilst being exposed like this still sent his heart hammering, he was relieved to see that Gellert was still beyond the boundary. He was looking in with a conflicted expression upon his face, his MACUSA disguise clashing oddly with his usually elegant look, the brown trench coat somewhat fitting but the pinstriped suit underneath looking odd, not high enough quality or tailored flatteringly to his figure as it usually was. It gave him a disjointed look, as if the clothes did not fit the frame nor the temperament beneath.

Percival, who had mostly ignored the presence of whoever Auror Bennett was in their MACUSA rankings, glanced back at the door, eyes skating over where Newt’s eyes were fixed and clearly taking his fixation for simply being uncomfortable with an unfamiliar presence. The Director waved a hand at the door and it swung shut, right in Gellert’s face as the American barked, “Keep watch, Bennett.”

Newt relaxed just a little now that Gellert’s eyes were not on him, even as he still felt him lingering on the edges of his mind. The presence seemed to be slowly seeping away, like the drawing in of the tide, drawing back and leaving the sand wet and empty again, scattered in new patterns that looked the same to the casual eye but were completely new underneath.

“This is taking too long,” Newt felt Percival’s hands pause about his neck, having cleared Newt’s face of the cloying fuel residue and then moving to lift the younger man again, Harkaway assisting as they carried him again, this time to the bathroom. The bath was filled and Newt was gently levered into the tub, hissing in pain as something in the lukewarm water made Newt’s injuries flare in further fire and he let out a choked cry. He looked up to Percival with beseeching eyes and the Auror grimaced before shutting the bathroom door on where Harkaway too lingered, though not as invasively as Gellert – rather indecisively.

“Perc-…” Newt managed to croak out as the wizard began his careful task of attempting to clean Newt’s sore, blood and fuel-soaked skin. The Auror summoned a cup to his hand from where it sat beside the sink and filled it with fresh water from his wand before helping Newt drink, tilting his head forward from the rim of the bath so that he didn’t choke. Newt kept his eyes on Percival the whole time, determined to dissociate the sensations from his roiling memories…_ water being slowly fed as his suffering prevented him from moving away from the man who’d hurt him so_…

When he had drunk his fill, he turned his face away and a little cognition returned, though his head and body remained agonized and hazy, like they were attached to him by proxy more than biology.

“Percival. H-how’d you find me?”

“Told you we had people watching the Salemers, one of them saw a group of them bringing firewood to one of the old community halls. They figured that the No-Majs were planning on another burning and when I went back here to talk to you and found you weren’t here, I feared the worst. I’ve said it before – any trouble within a hundred miles will always find you, won’t it, Newt? I swear I’m starting to get a second sense of when you’re in danger now, like a hole in my chest, just keeps on getting wider.”

Newt felt another plastic smile stretch his cut lips and bruised face and he nodded, albeit a little self-deprecatingly, “I was just running errands, getting some straw and offcuts…for Henry and Starktail, ya know?…didn’t figure I would’ve been on their radar quite so soon…” 

Percival looked caught between irritation, concern and exasperated amusement, “Newt, when have you ever _not_ been on the radar of the nearest sadistic asshole?” 

Newt thought hard before offering a tentative, “Um…around 1912?” It seemed important to answer somehow. And the smile that Percival gave him in response was worth the drudging through his own head, felt right to do.

Percival’s instinctive, momentary smile morphed into a disbelieving look that made the Magizoologist laugh even as the Auror withdrew his wand again and began waving it over his pierced shoulder in delicate movements. Newt gritted his teeth and was thankful for Percival’s attempt at conversation to keep him distracted from the pain. “You would’ve been about fifteen then, right?”

Newt nodded, focusing on breathing in and out steadily as the muscles and flesh of his shoulder knitted itself back together under Percival’s careful ministrations. The Auror’s expression was purposefully brusque but Newt could still see the worry and anger glimmering underneath.

“You were working with your mother, with the Hippogriffs. Tell me about it.”

“There were a lot of them…I think thirteen, at most, and I helped keep track of them. We let them wander and fly as far as they wanted… it’s not good to keep them restrained…against their nature. We just had to keep an eye on them so they didn’t end up hurt or lost…they orient themselves by their herd, you see. If they lost their herd, they didn’t know what to do… that’s when they could get nasty…Not that they meant to! …just scared…”

His mouth was working faster than his brain, hazy though passionate words slipping past his lips as time seemed to blur together and Newt relaxed into the gentle, thorough healing magic that Percival was working. He carried on describing that brief happy time in his life, after Hogwarts but before his mother’s death, when it had just been them and the Hippogriffs, occasionally punctuated with a visit from Theseus when he found the time off work. It was hard work, tiring, but he had the company of the forest creatures and Pickett, and his little green companion’s entire branch. And mum. He found himself missing her then, as the flesh sealed itself over where it had been torn or burnt and Percival’s wand moved to touch at the extensive damage done to his throbbing, wandering head. 

The pain in his head suddenly sharpened, becoming much more perceptible in that moment and he cried aloud, jerking forward in the water, splashing and twisting as his hands shot up to clutch at the wrist holding a wand tip to his forehead. Newt found himself burying his head in those hands, the wand dropped into the water, forgotten beneath the surface as Newt curled forward, burrowing into the welcoming, warm arms. Newt’s almost nudity and Percival’s fine suit going unheeded and water soaked into both, Percival pulling him closer, one hand wrapped around his back and the other stroking the back of his sopping wet, tangled curls, shushing him quietly.

It felt safe. Safer than he had felt for years before any of this began. Before he met any of the people who were now lynchpins in his chaotic stream of a life.

“Newt? Newt. How do you feel?”

Newt nodded into the shoulder his face was buried in, not wanting to speak but feeling glad as Percival seemed to accept it and just kept on holding him close, even though it must’ve been a terribly uncomfortable position for him, crouched on the tiles, pressed tight into the edge of the bathtub and hugging a heap of sopping wet, trembling Magizoologist. Eventually, Newt let him ease away, letting his own body drop further into the suspiciously still-warm water and bringing his hands up to clutch at his own shoulders, one shoulder intact and the other left with a puckered wound that looked weeks old instead of freshly inflicted. He looked down at his leg, noticing with some shock that at some point the cilice had been removed and that whilst those particular wounds were still inflamed, and the skin still a purplish-red, the primary damage was no longer a life-threatening issue. Thinking back on it with a relatively clear head, Newt realised that the blood that had spurted forth from the appendage had been a bright enough red for arterial damage. No wonder Percival now looked so exhausted after healing him.

Percival noticed his gaze going lower and as Newt caught sight of the angry burns still marking his legs, he said, with some apology, “I’m sorry, I might need a little time to recover before I fix those…there was-” he swallowed spasmodically, an odd habit for the Auror, “a lot of damage to deal with. To your head mainly. Damn surprised that blow didn’t kill you, Newt. Mercy Lewis only knows what made it,” he grimaced further and looked toward the door. “I’ll get Bennett in, he used to be part of the healer’s squad before and-”

“Couldn’t Harkaway do it?” Newt quickly interjected, too quickly if Percival’s expression was anything to go by and he tried to hide his panic by adding, “I-I think it’d be…easier to stick with someone I know already…if that’s alright…”

Percival’s expression flashed with something odd but it happened so quickly that Newt couldn’t quite catch it and the Auror nodded, standing swiftly and offering two hands to Newt. The Magizoologist took the proffered help and managed to vacate the bath without falling too spectacularly, beyond a slight slip on the damp floor into a stout, suit-clad chest. Percival helped him wrap a towel around himself to hide himself and his soaked underwear before guiding him out of the room to lay Newt down gently back onto the bed, his damp head sinking gratefully into the soft pillows. 

He heard Percival step away and hushed voices across the room before Harkaway stepped into view, wand in hand and a forcefully cheerful expression on his face, though it looked about as brittle as most of the smiles Newt had been seeing recently.

“Well you’re in quite the state, ain’t you, missy?”

Newt blinked and then flushed as it clicked in his head that the first time he’d met the man, he had in fact been wearing a dress so the comment wasn’t entirely unprecedented, even if he felt like it was a deliberate and obvious attempt to lighten the mood. Probably to distract Newt from the oncoming discomfort, as Percival had. Harkaway didn’t crouch level with Newt the way Percival had but went to settle himself on the end of the bed, not on the mattress but on the frame. He looked evenly at Newt, asking silent permission before lifting the edge of the towel that was draped over Newt’s still-burnt legs. Newt gave a jerky nod and Harkaway hissed in a sympathetic breath before he spoke, “Managed to get out of the fire just in time, eh? Why not get out sooner?”

“Magic suppressor on my ankle, had to get enough strength to get it off first…took me a while…” Newt mumbled, keeping his eyes on Percival who was standing by the sink, mixing something into a bowl that smelled of lavender and honey. He watched Percival’s shoulders working under his white shirt and waistcoat, the Auror having discarded his jacket and coat to dry neatly while he mixed, chopped and poured. Harkaway carried on talking and casting despite Newt’s distraction – or maybe because of it – and the Magizoologist shuddered at the itching, crawling sensation that spread across his legs as the skin mended, layer by layer. Newt found himself realising then how long it had been since he had last taken his numbing tonic, not, at least, since he had begun regaining his memories. He had, of course, caught on that he must’ve immunised himself to its effects through prolonged exposure or overuse. He missed it just a little, longing for the absence of pain but also grateful to be feeling anything – especially the odd contentment that had washed over him since he got back to the safehouse. Even since he saw that Percival had come for him. A relief borne of familiarity. 

“How in the name of Morgana’s _ass_ did they manage to get a suppressor?” Harkaway muttered, clearly not expecting an answer. Newt supplied one, nonetheless.

“Smuggled it out after faking being obliviated by your interrogators, apparently. One of them – a younger one – managed to get half a cuff out with him. That was the one I broke, but I don’t know if they might have more. I think they figured it would’ve been enough to hold me…”

“Damn glad you proved ’em wrong, little dragon,” the Texan congratulated him and Newt offered a tight, fumbling smile as the last layers of skin flushed with an abrupt, fierce tingling. When Newt looked down, the wounds – like his shoulder – only looked to be in the final stages of healing. The skin was red and tight, but significantly less agonising and unusable than just minutes earlier.

He glanced up at Harkaway with a grateful, soft smile, glad that he had been there so Percival hadn’t made the mistake of inviting Gellert inside the supposed safehouse, “Thank you.”

“No problem, just try to be more careful in future, will ya? No more scaring the shit outta Graves’y like that. Not sure his old ticker can take it,” he flashed a grin over toward Percival who flipped him off over his shoulder without even looking around from his work. Newt snorted and manoeuvred himself a bit further up on the pillows, resting his back against the bed frame and looking between the two men with a fond feeling warming his insides. He still felt safe. Even as the recollections and the knowledge that Gellert was just outside the door…he felt normal. As sick as it sounded, the pain and then the softer treatment felt more familiar than anything he’d experienced since seeing the man again. The agony and its aftermath was a more familiar pattern between them than anything else…the knowledge that they were there for each other when the other needed it…even if it felt more one-sided with Newt’s propensity for attracting trouble.

But then he supposed that he was protecting Percival right now, by keeping silent on Gellert’s presence – for whatever twisted reasoning that the dark wizard went through – he was preventing Grindelwald from following through on his promise of violence. Even if it wasn’t obvious, he was doing his part, too, keeping the man he cared for safe without the burden of Percival’s gratitude – it was a quiet, simple sort of thing but one that Newt cherished, nonetheless. He wasn’t helpless to protect those he cared about. It was a good feeling.

Newt looked up again at Percival when the older man touched his foot, squeezing it just the tiniest bit, but since it still felt disproportionally ticklish to the sensitive skin he giggled a little, jerking back but smiling all the same. Percival returned it with a slightly mischievous hint to his glimmering mahogany eyes.

“Had no idea you were ticklish,” he commented as he scooped up a little of the lavender-honey-comfrey paste and began working it onto the reddened areas. It was a more mundane remedy, but one that reminded Newt of the herbal smells of the inside of his case. The touch helped, too, the gentle massaging from Percival’s rough hands that worked the mixture up the jumping muscles of his legs, relaxing them and causing Newt to sigh, laying back his head on the pillows with a slight smile twisting his lips, eyes fluttering shut.

They shot open a moment later however when he heard a very deliberate cough and looked up to see Harkaway regarding the scene in front of him with a thoroughly amused expression on his face, hands habitually buried in his pockets.

“I think this would usually be my cue to either join in or leave but I have to say that the stench a’ burnin’ flesh don’t do much for me so I’ll leave you two kids to it.”

Harkaway was already backing toward the door when a plate went flying at his head from the sideboard and he hastened his retreat, tugging open the door and only sticking his head around it long enough to comment with a face-splitting grin, “Don’t forget the ticker old man.” The next plate smashed against the closed door, setting the wards alight in warning but Newt was fighting to hold in both his laughter and his embarrassment.

“Idiot,” Percival muttered, shaking his head, his hand paused on Newt’s nearest knee, where the burns ended and unblemished skin began. Newt felt very aware of that contact, breathed through it, ignored the thrumming of his pulse that he feared Percival could feel in his contact with Newt’s thigh.

“Percy,” Newt let the name drop from his lips, quiet but calling and Percival’s dark brows furrowed, eyes fixed on him expectantly but also with what Newt would’ve called a healthy caution but, at that moment, just left him oddly impatient and irritated. He pushed himself up straighter in the bed, not moving beyond the touch but letting it slide higher, ignoring the hitch in his own breathing but catching quickly onto the one that started in Percival’s.

“Newt…” Percival’s grip tightened where Newt had moved it, seemingly both in frustration and temptation, but stuck in limbo between the two. Newt tried his best to push him over to the desired side by leaning forward to where the Auror was crouching and meeting their lips abruptly, sweetly but firmly, coaxing the other to reciprocate. He froze, however, when he felt a strangeness to the feel of Percival’s lips, the edge of the upper one was not the same as he remembered it being, or how it appeared. Even as the Auror jerked backwards, flushed and angry-looking, Newt caught his face in one hand, cupping Percival’s chin and tilting it up to face him, letting two fingertips glide over the uneven skin. The texture of his lower lip was the same but the upper one felt like it had been cleaved through, the scarred flesh having healed together wrong, not enough to affect the American’s speech but enough to feel. Newt peered closer at Percival’s face, the Auror’s eyes closed in apparent shame and low-simmering anger but still in Newt’s grip.

Newt brushed his thumb against the underside of Percival’s eye, feeling more scarred, ridged skin, silently requesting him to look at him which he did after a few moments of unsteady breathing, “Why’d you have to go and do that, Newt?”

The younger man flinched and Percival must’ve felt it as his expression became apologetic and he gently levered Newt’s hand down from his own face and to rest, joined, on the bed between them, “I didn’t mean-…damn it…I just didn’t want you to find out about this just yet…”

“Scars don’t bother me, Percy, you should know me better than that.”

Percival shook his head sadly and seemed to come to a decision before waving his hand over his own face in a series of harsh motions, “It’s not just scars, Newt.”

The face that was revealed was decidedly gaunter than the glamour that Newt now realised had been in place – the previous shimmer he’d noticed gone along with the magic. But the most striking thing wasn’t quite the slash that cleaved from Percival’s brow, narrowly missing his eye by the looks of the continuation underneath as the wound had sliced open the Auror’s cheek and through his lips, down to his jaw. A thin white line contrasting with the red facial scars just at the edge of his throat. No, the striking thing was the familiar width and depth of the wound, the edges of the scarring and the crimson colouring cluing in Newt to exactly what had made them. He felt tears press at the back of his eyes then as he realised just what Percival had been hiding for so long and why.

“I know of only one thing that leaves marks like this…” he whispered and Percival nodded, humbled and sad. Newt repressed the spilling dampness in his eyes and demanded, “How did this happen? How long…?”

Percival sighed, looking weary beyond anything and began to speak.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**“…So I take off my face because it reminds me of how it all went wrong and pull out my tongue because it reminds me of how it all went wrong. **

**I am sorry for the trouble, I suppose, my blood runs red, but my body feels so cold, I guess I could swim for days in the salty sea but in the end, the waves will discolour me. **

**And I cough up my lungs because they remind me of how it all went wrong, but I leave in my heart because I don't want to stay in the dark.” – ‘Organs’ – Of Monsters and Men **

In a way, looking into a mirror and not seeing the same face staring back at him was more of a relief than a cruel reminder. It wasn’t a trick. It helped Percival mark a clear divide – between the now and the blurred slew of sameness and disparagement before it. Granted, it had been more than eight months since the injury, but it had helped him gain a sort of scale, a measure of how to take everything that came his way. In a way, too, it had been a wakeup call; and Percival had been made aware of just how little he had cared about much. A touch of deep melancholy and depression had not quite consumed him as he persevered in his work, but only left him with the conviction that little else mattered.

He hadn’t been sharp enough and that had cost him and the Aurors accompanying him greatly. He had been stubborn and reckless to a degree that would’ve likely labelled him into the Scamander clan – pursuing Gellert Grindelwald had been and still was his one driving motive. The one thing Percival knew would make everything better, should he achieve this goal. It sounded childish and naïve, perhaps, but the man that Percival had hardened into since he last saw Newt before he came back to New York was anything but – he was ruthless and bordered on cruel in his pursuit of the bastard that had destroyed more lives than he could count. It would be worth it -- or at least he had thought so, until the incident.

Percival didn’t go into detail about the long months he’d spent organising, interrogating, raiding and hunting since everything had fallen apart. Real progress for him had come only when he managed to infiltrate Grindelwald’s inner circle. Or so he had thought. Nurmengard Castle had been made unplottable since he left it last, and Percival had cursed himself repeatedly for having done so and not simply having blasted Grindelwald apart right then and there, after all that he’d done. Percival had been too concerned with finding Newt at the time to give much thought to the future simply getting the man he loved to remember him. And though he had scoured the mountainside areas he just _knew _the place to be, he had only been repelled repeatedly by a webbing of perplexingly strong enchantments that neither he nor his colleagues could penetrate. Likely the lingering work of a past spell from the Elder Wand, alongside whatever other dark arts Grindelwald had delved into to protect his suitably ostentatious home. It had been after nearly two months of seeking out members of Grindelwald’s cult and interrogating most of them to within inches of their endurance – “within the boundaries of MACUSA regulations, of course, yes, Madam Picquery, Sir!” - that he had gotten a way in.

It had been through a presumably susceptible link in a newer member – a younger Italian-American man who’d apparently been recruited by Abernathy in New York two months before. The man – Luca Caputo – had agreed, under duress, to assist him and his squad into the building and though Percival had been suitably suspicious, he hadn’t let his common sense make him as cautious as he should’ve been. He had been distracted by the promising mental image of Grindelwald spilling his guts – both metaphorically on how to get Newt’s memories back – and literally. The promised carnage of his fantasies was a harsh reminder of how close he’d thought they’d been. Retrospectively, it was now the last thing he should’ve been seeking what with the violence that ensued since.

Caputo had explained that, as he was only beginning to be trusted by the sect, it would take him a few weeks to properly convince Abernathy to bring him back to Grindelwald in person – Percival had given him two days. Another mistake. It had gone fairly smoothly until they’d actually reached the castle. They advanced further than they had in months, into the fortress itself through the eerily empty grounds and battlements and into the heart of the castle. Percival, having as much experience of Grindelwald as he did, had known by instinct that the dark wizard wouldn’t be on the lowest level – not after nearly a year of being imprisoned in his own fortress. His sense of grandeur too was what led Percival to the same room that he had confronted Grindelwald in, the large main hall. Percival had had enough sense to send in detachments of Aurors from different entrances and that had been what ended up saving the lives of some. Though not all. 

Disillusionment charms and shields had done little good against the defences they encountered. Not much could prepare one against the sheer numbers. The midnight timing of the raid should’ve clued him in, but at the time, Percival had only been expecting the dark wizard himself and perhaps a scattering of his lackeys aided by the man’s magical defences. And to a certain extent, that had indeed been what the others had dealt with’ Graves, however, had been drawn off down another path – more specifically into a side corridor and to a small, plainly-furnished room. It had been the glimpse of white-blonde hair and a familiar smirking leer that had lured him away from the fray and into the room that he later realised had once been home to more than just his own attack. That it had hosted an assault of a much more intimate kind than even the one that befell him, and as he described it to Newt, he saw the paling of Newt’s already ashen face and tightened his grip momentarily on the younger man’s hand to ground them both as he continued with his story.

Percival had cornered the figure, grasping at a dark-clad shoulder and spinning the man only to curse in frustration, raising his wand swiftly to throw his opponent back when he saw that it had been a glamour. A trick to lure him away. With that, the façade had been dropped – both the veneer of Grindelwald but more importantly, of humanity.

The Lycanthrope had transformed alarmingly swiftly – no doubt aided by potions brewed and consumed specifically for that very purpose. 

The nature of the attack had made Percival question just how much Graves family history Grindelwald truly knew, or if the cell in Graves manor on the Moors had been what clued him into the significance of Percival’s later injuries. Whatever the case, the beast had descended upon Percival and whilst there was a general bloody carnality to the assault, he got the feeling that there was specific purpose in the way it went for him. Blasting and stupefying spells were not much use, but his shielding charm still assisted in keeping the worst of it from him at first. Unfortunately, even the section of the wall he blasted down upon his aggressor had not deterred the abnormally large beast and he had been pinned under the weight of a snarling Lycanthrope at the mantel of the reinforced door. One of Percival’s arms had been crushed under a chunk of fallen stone and his wand had been knocked from his grip when the Wolf barrelled into him.

Huge pitiless eyes and grotesquely elongated limbs and muscles stretched underneath an expanse of dark fur... Percival couldn’t bring himself to appreciate as Newt might’ve perhaps done the sheer miraculous nature of the transformation of man to beast, nor the magical nuance involved in strengthening its hide and increasing its size and speed – Percival only felt fear.

This wasn’t a foe that could be outsmarted and even the smallest nick, scratch or bite would seal his fate permanently, and change him forever.

And it did.

The Lycanthrope had gone straight for his exposed throat and even as Percival had managed to save his jugular from being viciously severed, his shielding arm and the unprotected section of his face still bore the fateful consequences of the attack. Percival wasn’t sure what sound he had made when the claws ripped into his flesh but it was cut off as one of the offending appendages tore across his brow, barely missing his eye and digging deeper as it descended to slash open his cheek and mouth. All he had been aware of was pain, heat, blood, and the crushing sensation of not being able to see, to breathe or move and _oh gods he was going to die. He was going to die without doing the one thing he’d sworn himself to do. He was going to die with Grindelwald victorious and Newt out there all alone and completely unaware of how much he meant to Percival. Of how much they once meant to each other. Or maybe Grindelwald would make him remember again just to revel in Newt’s grief…gods…gods…who knew what he would do…_

**…**

When he spoke his inner fears in those moments, Percival’s voice cracked and Newt looked so painfully guilty that it stung Percival like a violent wind; Newt looked as if he were taking the fears to heart, and finding himself culpable. Just as Percival feared he would. 

**…**

At the time, it had been his fears which pushed him past the pain and enabled Percival to use a blind, desperate surge of power to blast the creature back from him. The Lycanthrope had struck the opposite wall with a sickening thud, attempting weakly to stand before being struck one final time by a flaming torch that impaled the Wolf from above and set the blasted thing aflame. As it burned, it began to transform back into its human form. Flesh, muscles, bones and hair attempted to realign and mutate back to their initial state, but melted, sizzling and perishing before the process could take place. The animalistic howls morphing halfway to screams and freezing there as the half-formed abomination succumbed to its wounds.

Percival had retained enough coherency to move, to get back out of the room and past the enchantments that melted under the force of his sheer desperation and agony. He’d staggered along the corridors until he found the battle once more, leaning heavily upon a stone archway and witnessing the dark-robed hoard that was interspersed by four or more Lupine forms and the bloody carnage they wrought. He had gathered air enough in his lungs to yell a garbled retreat at his remaining Aurors, who had looked for him in terror and panic but were unable to see him through the throng of flames, bodies, rubble and choking flesh-scented smoke of the battle. They had apparated, leaving the injured and dead and instead, fleeing for their lives. A damn disaster.

Percival had stood, staggering forward with great difficulty and with more desperation-fuelled strength, glaring down at the remaining wolves and humans alike. The Werewolves prowled, furious and hungry ahead of the people, but they were clearly sentient enough through to know the danger that was radiating off him in scorching magic bursts. Percival had looked down at himself, regarded the blood soaking his clothes and skin, realising what the lacerations across his face and arm meant and growling almost as animalistically as the beasts themselves at the implications. He had decided then and there that no one in the department could know about any of it if he were to keep his job and hunt Grindelwald to his death as the bastard deserved. So he had grit his teeth firmly against the oncoming onslaught of agony and walked face-first into the flames, pausing only long enough to burn the uppermost layers of skin before he apparated blindly, sending out a shockwave of furious, purely violent magic as he did so.

Percival had awoken several days later to achingly familiar duck egg blue walls and had, at first, been overtaken by paroxysms of fear – fear that the time since he had been there last had been nothing but a fevered, bizarre dream. The pain and the sternly recognizable face of Frau Mercier had told him of the truth, however – the agony ran deeper than that of his last visit and centred more about his face and arm rather than his chest as before. There was no injured Magizoologist beside him, nor was there any welcome face beside that of the nurse who had treated him before. He had discovered later that he had apparated in the ward out of a plume of flames and slammed to the ground covered in blood and burns, and that he’d been damn lucky to live, let alone live with only the marks of the wolf remaining. The burns had not masked the attack as he had hoped, but thankfully when he returned to MACUSA not a week later, no one had questioned the slight gimmer to his face. He had worked the magical glamour well enough to hide the visible damage, even if the curse in the wounds had remained. 

Percival had been ‘encouraged’ by Picquery to take it easy for a while after that disastrous attack. Despite Percival’s proclivity for slipping out to assist in raids and interrogations, which persisted, he’d mostly put himself on desk duty in his office or home as the stiffness of his still-healing wand arm and his somewhat sobered mania cooled the fire in him.

Now Percival was determined to find Grindelwald and flay the bastard alive, but he had also come to the inevitable conclusion that getting himself and more of his colleagues killed or injured in the process would only erode his already-tentative grasp on the world. Grief and guilt weighed heavily on Percival, and his withdrawn nature had deterred all but the most tenacious – namely idiots like Jared Harkaway – from entering his office or bothering him at all. 

Jared had done him multiple, infinitely appreciated favours by trailing and guarding Newt against harm in the few times where he had actually pinpointed the Magizoologist’s ever-moving presence. That had only happened twice before he returned to New York – once in Berlin and then six months earlier, in London. The British Ministry had been quick to post an international arrest warrant for Newt Scamander, and whilst it had caused Percival further concern to hear of this – coupled with Theseus’ hospitalisation – it had also given the Auror a little relief. To know that Newt was alive. To know that, from the sounds of it, he was still running circles around those who wished him harm. Or at least, the more official forces: Grindelwald seemed to be the one force that followed Newt almost as readily as trouble did. Except, perhaps, for magical creatures.

Berlin had been the closest he or his Aurors had come to detaining Grindelwald, and even then, Jared had been lucky to escape with only a half-severed arm. Benevolence seemed to be a new trait that Grindelwald was trying out, and while Percival did not voice it to Newt as he recounted the time since his attack, he had the strong feeling that Newt had had something to do with Grindelwald’s newfound generosity. Though what it might’ve cost Newt, Percival dreaded to think – Grindelwald wasn’t the sort for good works or favours – even for the sake of someone that he claimed to care for And Newt’s reluctance to talk of the matter earlier that same day worried him further.

Harkaway had been forthcoming with his report of that evening in Berlin once Percival was well enough after his first transformation to hear it. His second in command had been somewhat murky on the parting words between himself and both Newt and Grindelwald. It hadn’t triggered Percival’s suspicions as it would’ve from anyone else, but he was uneasy. It still itched at him like an infected scab that he hadn’t been able to attend himself – both to protect Newt and to attempt to arrest (at the very least) Grindelwald.

The party had, perhaps deliberately, coincided with the first full moon after his injury. His new nature necessitated that Percival chain himself up in the very room that had once housed his family’s Lycanthropic members of decades past, chain himself and wait out his transformation alone. Being part of a Lycanthropic family and spending time with Newt and occasionally discussed such matters as the mistreatment of Werewolves, Percival had thought himself somewhat prepared for the unbridled pain of the shift, but he could wrest no additional control over his actions whilst in the bestial form due to his knowledge. His mind had not been his own from the moment that the full transition occurred. He had awoken sore, blood-stained and bruised from repeated attempts to escape the heavy door, walls and rune protections of the room. But the cell had held true to its purpose, just as it had when it had been Newt’s cell months before. 

The timing of his disappearances from work and his life had been and still were discouragingly easy to cover up, as it seemed all his colleagues had become increasingly used to his erratic comings and goings since the start of the year. None of them was foolish or brave enough to question his changing disposition except Harkaway and Picquery, and neither pressed long after he had made it clear to both that he was in no mood to talk of Newt Scamander or his own rumoured injuries. They accepted his reticence as long as he continued to work and, as he did little else, the stalemate remained unbroken except for a few probing comments from Jared if Percival was acting particularly oddly. His temper often seemed to wear thin in the few days before his transformation, and he remained drained after, but he merely gritted his teeth and moved through it as best he could: he wouldn’t let this stop him. That was no doubt Grindelwald’s intention – to break Percival’s spirit and make him lose what little humanity he had left. He would not allow it. 

**…**

He spoke, with a fond, bitter half-smile, of just how he’d been clued into Credence’s disappearance and the importance of finding Newt on a more official scale. Newt looked so desolate and guilt-ridden that he pushed himself up off the floor as he continued, settling on the bed too, shuffling Newt along a little so that he could wrap an arm around the slighter man. Newt settled further down, resting his head onto Percival’s shoulder and listening as the Auror wove into words the day not so long ago that Picquery had finally half-snapped him out of his work-obsessed, depressed state and into more active duty and thought.

**… **

“Graves, my office, now.”

Percival’s head had snapped up from where he had been lost in the pile of questionably large paperwork that had been steadily piling up on his desk for the past few days. Picquery stood in the doorway, face stern and pinstriped suit immaculately matching her hair-wrap, a striking shade of deepest olive. He had offered her a sardonic, thin smile, pen still in hand, and made no move to stand. Picquery narrowed her eyes.

“Is there any reason that we can’t discuss whatever it is here? I’ve grown rather attached to my desk post, seeing as I’ve been shackled to it for so long.” 

She hadn’t looked at all impressed.

“Get up, Graves. Enough of the self-pity. If you’re going to continually prove yourself a liability in the field then I’m going to post you somewhere you can't do much harm,” she had inhaled irritably and fixed him with an imperious stare, clearly unhappy about her next words. “However, as a great deal of our department has been compromised, I’m left with little choice but to throw you out there and hope that you land on your feet. If you don’t, then I’ll have little use for what’s left of you.” 

Percival’s smile had widened and grown increasingly brittle. “And how could I refuse such a courteous request?” he had stood nonetheless, lest the vein throbbing in Picquery’s forehead explode and cause some sort of permanent brain damage, stepping around and following her firm, furious steps down the hall and up to the opulent set of doors that housed her office. The defences upon it were second to none – as was befitting the President of MACUSA – and he understood the necessity of discussing matters of any import within their walls.

She had turned sharply on her heel the moment that Percival entered and the door had shut with a distinctive click behind him, “I shall get to the point. Credence Barebone has escaped our custody – neither we nor the British have seen him or been able to locate him in the two days since he busted our roof wide open.”

Percival’s brows had risen incredulously “Two days? He’s _still_ missing. And I’m only now hearing of this?”

Her eyes had narrowed again, “Perhaps you would have heard of it sooner had you been willing to listen to anyone or followed any intent but your own. Goldstein would have been able to tell you had you not cut off what few social ties you had remaining.”

Apprehension had melted a small, pinpoint hole through the icy countenance that had consumed Percival, and the bitter humour left his expression. “What do you mean ‘would have’? Just because she’s pregnant does not mean that she’s incapable of informing me of something important.”

Picquery had looked decidedly weary then, concerned even, and that had been enough to ignite Percival’s nerves further as she explained in a painfully slow tone – as if she were speaking to a slow child: “Tina Goldstein had her son six months ago and then vanished. She broke off all contact with the department and that with the British Ministry as well. Her sister and brother-in-law also to my knowledge.” 

“What?” Percival had blurted, the dawning realisation of how out of it he had been, how far away from the lives of his remaining friends he had grown. So far that the news was only then reaching him, and his guilt brewed stronger than before, especially coupled with the news of Theseus’ hospitalisation. He’d only heard of that through the introduction of the new Head Auror overseas, but the knowledge of Tina’s vanishing with her child and without Theseus had been enough to reignite his concern. “Have there been any efforts to find her? To find any of them? Do you have any idea of the danger they could be-”

Picquery had cut across him with scorn, traced with a little pity, “Enough, Graves. Of course we have an agent or two looking into the matter, but we have larger concerns to take care of in the meantime. Goldstein was our best bet at containing the Obscurus and it was only a matter of time after Goldstein left that he would become a problem. She was suitable for keeping him contained and mostly content, but now it is clear that the Obscurial has decided to defect elsewhere.”

“To Grindelwald, you mean? I’ve been hunting him for months and have heard no word of Credence being anywhere near-”

“Frankly, Graves, I’m not sure if you’ve been enough yourself to have noticed if Grindelwald was waving the boy directly in front of you this entire time. You’ve been fixated on entirely the wrong things. You have let this become a personal vendetta and unless you demonstrate some restraint and focus upon the tasks I assign you, I’m afraid that I will be forced to expel you from MACUSA authority and have you detained until the matter is resolved.” She had looked at him with such blunt challenge, “So, what’s it to be? Can you set aside this pissing contest or whatever else it is with Grindelwald and erode his support the right way by finding the Obscurial boy? Or are you going to throw away your career and life for nothing, and ruin everything we’ve achieved until now?”

Percival’s jaw had clenched and he had straightened himself to stand at his full height, taking a step forward and nodding stiffly.

“I’ll be whatever you need, Madam President, just as long as Grindelwald is brought to justice. If that means doing it by the book, then I’ll do it, just as long as you keep me informed in future. Keeping this sort of thing from me will help no one.”

“Very well. Here is the information we have on the Obscurial boy and the reports on his activities. Don’t mess this up, Graves.”

Percival had nodded, taking the file and turning to leave before she had added in a quieter tone, “Don’t think that I’m without sympathy, Percival; I’ve known you for long enough to tell that whatever has you so screwed up isn’t anything small. But you can’t let it consume you. Move past it. Do your job and then sort out what’s left if you’re still alive after all this is over.” 

Percival hadn’t turned around but he had nodded once more: “Yes, Madam President.”

**…**

“That’s when I decided that I needed to get you here,” Percival said, rubbing a hand over Newt’s arm, feeling the younger man trembling very slightly against him but thankfully whole and seemingly unaffected by the further trauma that been forced upon him by those ignorant, pious No-Maj crazies. He whispered his apologies into Newt’s hair, inhaling the scent of Newt and of smoke but being able to get past it to the purely earthy, cinnamon soaked part that was just him. “I’m sorry this happened. All of it. Everything. You have no idea how much I wish things could’ve been different, but they can’t…I’m just glad that you’re safe.”

He felt Newt freeze slightly against him for a moment before releasing a long breath slowly. It suggested some inner conflict, but Percival didn’t make the mistake of challenging his silence – if Newt wanted to talk, he would. Percival felt that enough had been vented between them of late and that silent reassurance, the simplicity of physical contact and a warm embrace was enough. It felt better to have both his secret out in the air and the glamour removed from his face – the constant magic itched at him and maintaining the spell was a consistent, small drain on his power. The secret had been a tentative thing – he knew that Newt of all people would not recoil from him for either the scars or the curse that lay within them, his bestial self, but he had still worried that the young Magizoologist would find a way to blame himself for Grindelwald’s cruelty. 

Newt spoke after some time, his voice very soft but thankfully calm, “I can help, you know, with your transformations…to imagine that you had to do this alone, all this time and that I could’ve been here, I could’ve helped…you’re not refusing me in this. I’m helping. There are some elixirs I could brew to help, both with the actual changes and your temperament around them. I’m guessing that you’ve been getting crankier before and after? Experiencing an increase in appetite? It's bound to happen as you’ve been locking yourself up rather than hunting – your body needs the extra food to fuel the transformations. Tell me, have you been eating properly?”

Newt’s tone was knowledgeable and broached no argument whatsoever; he’d levered himself up, braced gingerly on barely-healed knees and looking directly at Percival, he began ticking things off on his fingers before even giving Percival a chance to answer. “You’ll need to eat more red meat, on the bloodier side I’d recommend, it helps with the cravings. As well as more greens and dairy to strengthen your bones and body against the changing state, get an equilibrium back and-”

Percival cut him off with a sudden kiss, bracing Newt’s head to still its thoughtful bobbing and halting the babbling, knowledgeable suggestions with a soft, tender, telling meeting of their lips. Newt froze momentarily before melting into it, bracing himself on Percival’s broader frame with his calloused hands softly embracing the Auror’s neck and waist. Percival became increasingly aware of how exposed Newt was then, knelt before him on the bed in only a pair of still-damp boxers. Not even to mention the fact that he’d been severely injured and nearly burnt alive merely hours ago. Percival drew back, softly separating them with patience and a hint of reluctance but knowing as he had before that hurrying these things – especially now, wasn’t wise. 

“Don’t think that that distracted me or gets you out of the things I was suggesting, Percival Graves,” Newt half-grumbled next to Percival’s lips but drew back all the same, hissing at the tenderness in his legs and stretching them out in front of him, half-sprawled in Percival’s lap as he leant back, eyes drifting shut momentarily. He sprung up moments later, however, when a coy smile flashed across his unfairly plump, pink lips, and if he felt the no doubt horrible ache in his body or healing wounds, he gave no voice to it as he gave Percival what he could only describe as a flirtatious grin. “But I think I could do a much better job of distracting you if you’ll let me.”

Caught so off guard, Percival barely got out the words, “You’re in no state to-” before Newt practically pounced on him. The Auror was thoroughly distracted when he felt Newt’s bare, heated, deliciously soft skin pressing into him through the material of his still-damp shirt and found himself grumbling his half-hearted complaints into the other’s mouth as Newt met his hurriedly. There was an untraceable, impossible urgency to the advance, Newt’s nimble hands drifting up under his shirt, untucking it at his sides and trailing lightly, teasingly over his trembling stomach, quickly meeting the web of old scarring and caressing them almost lovingly. His nails dug in lightly, sparking feeling in an area that mostly just felt numb and he returned the touch in kind, his own hand gripping the back of Newt's knee and squeezing just until Newt gasped into his mouth, hips bucking. 

Newt was trembling too, just slightly, whether with pain, excitement or agitation, Percival wasn’t sure as Newt’s curled copper hair had fallen across most of his face, the rest of it hidden as Newt delved deeper into the Auror’s mouth. Tongue exploring and teeth nipping playfully, Newt caused Percival to lose himself further in what he had dreamed of for so long now. Months of nights spent alone, yearning for the touch of a man who didn’t remember him and now, even after bearing dire torment, his sweet Newt was trying to do just what they both wanted…well, who was he to argue? 

Percival let out a vicious snarl, grabbing Newt’s waist and tugging him up to straddle him upon the edge of the bed, Percival’s free hand going to pin both of Newt’s behind him with impressive strength that rippled through him almost like his transformations did and feeling exhilaration as the brief flash of alarm in Newt’s beautiful tainted-green eyes was immediately eclipsed by lust. He liked this. Newt had been challenging Percival to make this move. To take over. Percival felt a primal urge curling deep in his gut, warming his chest and giving him the strange urge to bite and pin the younger man. Instead, he growled, “Damn minx,” and sunk his nails deeper into the underside of Newt's thighs, revelling in the hisses that escaped him along with ragged and wanton breathing.

Newt grinned up at him unrepentantly but didn’t reply, merely arching up into him from below, grinding his damp boxers into Percival’s slacks and letting him feel the hardness underneath. Newt was already aroused and Percival’s own arousal brushed up against him when the Magizoologist shimmied further down, releasing an arm out of the grip and letting his hand go searching further, the damn minx having somehow unfastened Percival’s trousers whilst he had been distracted earlier. Newt’s knees met the floor and Percival bonelessly allowed it as Newt took the Auror’s trousers and underwear down with him. The cool air of the apartment met his aching member and Percival couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from where Newt was eyeing it with equal parts apprehension and determination. 

Before Percival could offer any words of either discouragement or encouragement (he was stuck between the two), Newt leant forward and engulfed the head of Percival’s cock with the divine wet heat of his mouth. No matter how many times he’d experienced Newt’s mouth or passion in real life or in his fantasies, Percival never quite got used to just how Perfect the tight and hot suction of Newt’s plump, pouting lips was. He was almost as fearless with this sort of thing as he was with protecting an endangered beast, but Percival couldn’t deign to think more on the ‘whys’ as Newt took him deeper. His cheeks hollowed out, highlighting his sharp features and lightly sun-kissed skin, lids lowered seductively over glimmering green and Percival couldn’t help the string of low curses that slipped from his own lips and seemed to be eaten up eagerly by Newt if the humming that vibrated through Percival’s cock was any indication. His hips thrust forward off the bed before he could stop himself and rather than choke or draw back as Percival expected, Newt only moaned low and took the Auror up to the hilt. 

Percival lost it then and gripped the back of Newt’s curled head, hips moving at a somewhat frantic pace, not fully deepthroating but still pushing in far enough that every breath and swallow Newt took tightened around the head of Percival’s over-sensitised member. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Newt, slow down or I’ll-” Percival’s warning came too late as Newt’s tongue moved to caress his shaft, his eyes fixing upon Percival’s just as the Auror came seconds later. The Auror thrust forward, burying himself deeper at just the moment of sweet release, shuddering as his orgasm wracked through him, head dropping forward before he withdrew, letting his limp member slip from Newt’s mouth. The Magizoologist panted, eyes pressed shut for some time, tongue hazily licking over his own lips as if to recover the feeling in them, swallowing and only looking back up to meet Percival’s incredulous stare when the younger man’s tongue flicked out once more to catch a trace of Percival from his lower lip.

Percival was speechless for an indeterminate amount of time before he managed to say, “Where did that come from?” Unsure if he was more aroused or wary.

Newt looked down momentarily, hissing as he stood, rubbing at his red, raw, oddly bleeding, smarting knees and heading toward the bathroom, a tell-tale stain on the front of his white cotton boxers demonstrating that it had not just been Percival’s pleasure he was seeking. He glanced back over his shoulder and said in a purposefully innocent tone that fooled precisely no one: “Just making a point.” Then he shut the bathroom door in the bewildered Auror’s face, and Percival heard the sound of running water. 

**A/N - Hey, so...that happened...feedback appreciated? Can I ask what's wrong with this instalment? **


	12. An inconvenient truth

**“We scratch on the plains, uptown they fluff the feathers…A Gentleman prefers to break from airs and fetters, to roll off his sleeves and liberate the Beast.**

**Let us piss from the vine, let us claw in the mud, let us swing with both fists as we writhe in the blood, let us walk on stained glass,**

**Sinners one, sinners all,**

**It's always prettiest after the Fall.” – ‘After the Fall’ – Terrance Zdunich (Alleluia! The Devil’s Carnival) **

Newt withdrew to his case once he was sure that Percival was gone. He had waited long enough in the bathroom for the Auror to be called back to his duties and he had knocked on the door, calling in to him and asking if he was alright. Newt had felt glad the older man had respected the locked door and left, not trying to force his way in when the Magizoologist needed space…time and normality. Or as close to it as he could get right about now. He craved Percival’s touch, he truly did, he wanted to curl into the warmth of the man’s bare skin, into the smell and comfort of him and never really leave it. But the anger simmering in, the unbridled, adrenalin-inducing fury eclipsed his good temperament – his ability to control himself. Any sense of control he’d had left after this latest torment and invasion – the resurgence of the rape of his mind and sanity – had been shattered apart after what Percival had told him. Of Gellert’s utter cruelty to the battered Auror. The specific nature of the attack. The idea that Grindelwald had thought that Newt would be repelled by a few scars and a change in the nature of the man he loved. The contradiction of him assuming that Newt would ever reject someone thought to be a monster because of what they were, because of what circumstances were forced upon them by cruelty. That Percival, who had fought harder than anyone, had been irrevocably harmed and marked, his life and job threatened when he was already so low after what Gellert did beforehand…it stoked a white-hot rage in Newt like he’d scarce known. 

He’d reacted…productively, he thought, even if the move towards Percival and against Gellert had been reckless – and potentially dangerous – it had helped dispel a little of the vibrating emotional vitriol within him. To help ease Percival if just a little. In a carnal, intimate manner. It had felt…good, too. And not just the physical, filthy act itself. He had been stunned and proud to find that the usual resurgences – the horrible throwbacks into darker territories – did not come. Even as Percival had thrust into his mouth, pressing toward the back of his throat, hot and so invasively _thick_…he had stayed in the moment. There had been no trace of Gellert and with that satisfaction, he had pushed passed any concerns and projected the lack of trauma in the act toward the dark wizard he still felt humming just along the edges of his senses. There had been a sick desire…one even deeper and guiltier than the lust and adrenalin that had been sent barrelling through him by Percival’s and his own abuse of his wounds…of his vulnerability. And that was that he relished having Gellert see it. For Gellert to be trapped and helpless to touch or intervene but still sharing in the moment of carnality. It had felt _good_. There was guilt-laden heavily into it of course but even now, even after everything or perhaps because of it – Newt felt as if he had no more capacity for fear of the man. Resentment, yes, guilt, yes, disgust, yes, an unmatchable loathing, gods yes! But the fear had fizzled out. He was apprehensive of what the dark wizard would and could do, but the actual figure, the truest thought of him…it didn’t feel the same as it had. He didn’t feel paralyzed by terror by the reminiscences of what had happened. The anger at what Grindelwald had done – to everyone, to him, but most importantly, to his Percy…that burned the fear away.

Newt had never thought of himself as an angry or vengeful person but after all that Grindelwald had put Percival through – what he had put both of them through in some deranged attempt to win Newt over…he finally felt…righteous. As if taking down Grindelwald would be as productive as Percival saw it. That, while it wouldn’t right a million wrongs, it could set the world back into balance just a little. Rid the world of one more atrocity. And no man was in a better position to do that than Newt. He wasn’t bound as Albus was to not harm the other man and he was close enough to Gellert so that he could realistically do that irreparable damage. That one last violence that would end this. He couldn’t involve anyone else in it, not if it were to succeed. No Aurors, no Percival, no Dumbledore and certainly no Credence. Not even his creatures were worth risking here, despite how often he appreciated them coming to his aid of their own volition. He wasn’t going to let them join him in this final darkness. If he died then he didn’t want to risk any of his creature friends falling into Grindelwald’s hands or to his wand.

Newt came to his epiphany as he wandered his case, feeding and helping, apologising for the lack of fresh straw, crickets or offal that had been stolen by the Salemers. He made amends as best he could by substituting, conjuring and fussing over each member of his dysfunctional, mismatched family until they either dismissed him or fell into contentment. Marius even saw fit to give him a ride through the waters, to soak him and give them both the thrill of near-drowning and swimming simultaneously. Newt found the cool water to be a balm on his burning, aching skin and his fuzzy mind. Both helped to awaken him and once he resurfaced, he was glad to dry himself off again, salve his wounds and then dress in relatively fresh clothes.

He was compelled to stare down at his bare feet in bemusement however as he realised that his one remaining pair of boots was now gone. Incinerated by the Salemers’ fire. He was forced to scrounge about in the deeper parts of a chest and eventually came out with something that left him huffing with nostalgic amusement – his wedding shoes. Shiny, black, uncomfortable things with a slight engraving of the tiniest dragon just along the edges of the lacing. Theseus had given them to him before the wedding when Queenie bemoaned the fact that he had no suitable footwear – they were an older pair of his elder brother’s that he had donated for the cause. Newt had complained at the time as they were distinctly ill-fitting and uncomfortable, slightly too small and spelled to fit his feet. The dragons had been Jacob’s idea. He’d been so intrigued, enraptured even, by Newt’s stories of the war and his family of Ukrainian Ironbellies that he’d suggested that Queenie personalise the shoes for Newt’s wear with the engravings. He’d utterly forgotten about the little detail until now – focussed on a more intriguingly worn pair of shoes from that day that he’d viewed first from his knees. But now, as he slipped them on for want of another option that was not forthcoming, it warmed him inside to remember.

He hoped that Tina and Edwin and Queenie and Jacob were faring better than he was – that they were managing some sort of normalcy, of equilibrium with the families and lives they were building even if it was apart. His nephew must be twice the size he was when Newt saw him last and the thought shocked him a little, that while the time flowed faster and faster for him, it was doubly so for the new life beginning within his family. That his nephew was growing up already without a father present and that Tina was doing it on her own. Jobless, alone and in hiding with a new-born. Newt didn’t doubt her capability of course – if anyone he knew could do such a thing it would be Tina but it didn’t stop him from worrying. If he couldn’t be there to help her - whatever help he would be with a human baby – then he could at least keep Credence safe for her. Tina’s surrogate son before Edwin, the boy she’d gotten fired protecting and then had worked so hard to help ever since. He could help him at least. And stopping Grindelwald was an undeniable part of that. It might not even be safe finding Credence until Newt had dealt with Grindelwald. He was likely hanging around New York also to find Credence, not just to hover like a vulture of Newt’s decaying state. 

Speaking of hovering, Newt made his way back toward the mountain enclosure, calling to the Phoenix once more, as he had many a time since the beautiful creature had withdrawn. There was a vague flutter of wings – reminiscent of an adolescent Theseus sticking his head irritably out of his bedroom door when called for - before no more movement was to be seen. Despite the dulled aches in his limbs, Newt attempted the climb upward again, it was slow going but he let his thoughts continue aloud to the Phoenix as he climbed, hoping that the sound of his voice and the conversation might calm or coax the bird into appearing. Or perhaps annoy him into it. “Surprised you didn’t go for Percy the last time I tried this. He was expecting it, I think. Poor bugger doesn’t deserve it – I know you don’t get along but he’s been trying his best really.”

He pulled himself higher and smiled a little to himself as he continued. “I guess all the travelling around doesn’t agree with you. It was necessary though, running from the authorities and all. This might not be the safest place to come to but I feel like at least here, even if I get caught, I might be able to do something.” He swore he saw a dark sharp dart across the alcove above him and took it as encouragement, supposing that the travel was indeed the source of the Phoenix’s problems. The creature had always been more sensitive of his apparation than the others, even whilst in the case.

“Don’t know if we’ll be moving again after I find Credence but I kinda hope not. Part of me wants to stick around. Tina’s not gonna be around to help him so I suppose I’m all he’s got. Not sure if Albus would help but once I’ve dealt with Grindelwald…well, who knows…it’ll all depend on what Credence wants, I suppose. Doubt I’ll be sticking in New York if he doesn’t want me to but-” Newt froze midsentence as he heaved himself up the final ledge, just big enough for a man to sit on comfortably and strewn with bits of shredded leather from the armchair on the ground as well as the bones left from several unfortunate rodents that Newt had gifted to the Phoenix. The crimson and gold bird was there alright, whole and haughty- looking as ever but so was another bird. A dark feathered, almost identically formed bird that looked as if it was carved from pitch, almost flaking its feathers in how they shifted and reformed in an almost constant mist around it. It had the form of a Phoenix but the pitch-black colouring of it gave it a distinctly unique aspect – that of night taken form around a living being. Shifting, undulating darkness, pinpointed starkly with two points of white about where the eyes would be. Had Newt been superstitious or perhaps anyone else, he might’ve marked it as a being of evil, a demon or dark faery of some sort that had invaded his case. But somehow, Newt knew, he just _knew_ exactly what the creature was. Or rather who.

“Credence,” he breathed

The darkness undulated violently, almost shivering for some time before it began to spread and to reform. Moments later, a skinny, ghostly- pale boy sat upon the rock across from Newt. His dark hair had grown out even longer than the last time Newt had seen him, now tickling his sharp cut jawline and half-masking his sallow face, dark eyes peering out uncertainly from his bangs. He was dressed in what Newt recognised with a jolt as a mismatched assortment of scrounged clothes, a shirt that hung off him and Newt recognised as his own, a star-studded maroon waistcoat that looked like it would’ve belonged in Albus’ wardrobe and perhaps the only item that actually fit being the mud-spattered, torn trousers. His feet were bare and scratched up, toes curled against the slight cold of both the enclosure and altitude. Credence’s thin arms were wrapped around his knees loosely, looking like he instinctively wanted to bolt, keeping careful eyes on Newt but also with the smallest of smiles tracing his lips.

Newt finally found his tongue and the first thing that blurted from it was, “You have an impressive wingspan.” He blushed, fumbled for words and attempted to correct himself hastily “I er-…mean...had. Not that you have wings now, of course, but I have to say I’m impressed with the form. How ever did you manage to mimic it so well?”

Credence blinked, clearly as wrong- footed and baffled as Newt, but murmuring a response, nonetheless. “I…I paid attention. Followed Fawkes around in my Obscurus form for long enough that I…I felt like…like I was him. My shape just sort of…moulded to how I saw myself, I guess…I don’t know…” He frowned, looking more directly at Newt but not quite meeting his eyes still, “I’m sorry but…why aren’t you angry with me? I mean, I’ve been in your case so long and-”

Newt cut him off with a low, hearty, thoroughly bemused laugh, “I didn’t even notice you were here, Credence, so you can’t’ve been that much of an imposition, can you?” He offered the younger man a reassuring smile before venturing, “Can I ask how long you’ve been here though?” 

Credence flushed slightly, looking guilty, “Well this last week I’ve been here all the time but…but...well…b-before…I was here quite a bit too…in and out a lot...”

Newt’s brows furrowed slightly and Credence seemed to quail under the look so Newt immediately worked to soften his expression again, not wanting to upset the boy. “You mean before you escaped from MACUSA, that is? I’ve been travelling a great deal, undercover I might add, how exactly were you finding me?” 

He looked so guilty then that Newt instinctively reached forward and took one of Credence’s heavily trembling hands in his own, simply placing his over the other’s in a calming gesture, looking at him directly without any accusation. “It’s alright, Credence, I’m not angry with you. I’m more just glad that you’re alright and that you’re somewhere safe. I just want to know how you’ve been getting in and out of here…I had thought that I’d been pretty thorough with my defences.”

“Fawkes,” Credence murmured, looking to the bird beside him as if he were an old friend and looking at them now, Newt could see that that was exactly what they were. The Phoenix’s usual aversion to strangers was not present with Credence, in fact, if anything, the bird was looking more suspicious of Newt than he was Credence – as if he were protecting the boy from any and all dangers. It wasn’t an active hostility, more of diligence due from one sibling to another. And Newt realised then that that was exactly what they appeared to be. This was what Dumbledore had meant - the dark twin. Only it was not as Albus had imagined it – Credence was the dark twin, his Obscurus form at one with himself in a mirroring of the Phoenix’s pure form. Credence had chosen to become a dark twin in his own right, following in the path of the Phoenix, at whose first flaming he had been present . Mirroring its ability to be reborn from ashes and destruction...he had twisted the prophecy and expectations of him and his heritage to his own will. To accept his nature and shape it to a form that fitted him. To be free. There was no point searching for something that was already found, for someone who was not lost.

Credence had accepted and cultivated his Obscurus form to be a representation of what he aspired to be. Something as comparably powerful, wild, untameable yet caring as the Phoenix.

“And Mr Grindelwald,” The second name that dropped from Credence’s lips caused Newt to freeze, staring at the boy in concern. The young American shifted on the rock, skidding himself further back into the alcove, the guilt practically radiating from him. “I-…I’m sorry, I didn’t know at first…just what he’d…-what he’d done…”

“Credence, calm down. It's alright,” Newt tried to soothe the agitated boy, unsure of what would happen should he lose control of his Obscurus form in the state he was…in Newt’s case, near his creatures. “I promise I won’t be angry with you, please, just tell me about what you and Grindelwald have been doing.”

The boy took in deep breaths for a minute or so before admitting, “He’s…he’s been helping me…get away…when I needed to…when…when everything got too much and I felt like I was going to explode. The Ministry…they didn’t understand that I needed to get away for a little while sometimes. Tina did, but she couldn’t let me go…she said.” His expression crumpled slightly but continued nonetheless, “I liked the training and everything but control…it's difficult when I already didn’t have it. Mr Grindelwald came to me and offered to help me get away for little bits at a time…as long as I did a favour for him in return.”

Disquiet thrummed up strongly in Newt’s chest and he asked, “And what favour was that, Credence?”

“To-…to keep an eye on you…I could go anywhere in the world as long as I told Mr Grindelwald where you were and what you were doing…if it was safe…if _you_ were.” He rushed to explain himself, “I thought at first that he was looking out for you…that I was helping him keep you safe. Thought that there wasn’t any harm in doing it if it meant I could get out for a bit…” 

Newt swallowed. “How long have you been doing this favour for him?”

Credence paused, as if thinking for a moment before answering tentatively, “Since the start of the year, I think, maybe the end of last – I first started following you from a cave. In England, I think it was. And since then Fawkes has been helping me keep…hidden. To keep in the shadows and keep control. He’s smarter than I first expected – I mean, I read about Phoenixes in your book and a few others but I didn’t realise how…human they could be. He was kind to me and let me stay up here, helped me travel back and forth from you and my… ‘safehouse’ with the Ministry and kept an eye on me.” 

“It sounds like he’s been a good friend to you,” Newt said cautiously as he repressed the unease he felt at realising that this was how Grindelwald had been keeping track of him for so long, and why his spells hadn’t helped him hide from the dark wizard. The Phoenix in his very own case had been helping Credence in and out and he in turn, had been leading Grindelwald to him. It was a thoroughly ala4rming concept – to imagine that Credence had witnessed so much, so many things he thought had been private but for the presence of those that wouldn’t judge him – his creatures. He found a feeling of betrayal niggling at him but tried to push it aside for now as he realised that the christened ‘Fawkes’ had just been trying to help Credence. Phoenixes were good judges of character and the bird had obviously sensed the same thing in the Obscurial that Newt had – that he needed to be protected and guided. And it seemed that he’d done a good job of it, too. Newt reached out a careful, affectionate hand and stroked it over the crown of the crimson-feathered head, letting the creature nip his skin lightly in warning and affection and offering a fond, thin smile to both Phoenix and boy. Though a leaden sense of betrayal lingered in his gut nonetheless, hard and poisonous, tainting his one safe place – his case, his home – with the fact that Grindelwald had used both it and Credence against him. 

“He has…” Credence replied, looking so painfully unsure that Newt felt prompted to reassure him further.

“It's alright, you’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t blame you for wanting out and away from the Ministry – they’re an overbearing lot and they fear what they don’t understand. I’m sorry that Tina had to leave you but it was for her safety and the safety of her son. She had a baby you see and her…her fiancé-” and Merlin’s beard did it feel odd to say that, “needed to keep her and Edwin safe. She didn’t want to leave you, I expect but…well…these things happen I suppose,” he finished a bit lamely but Credence seemed more at ease from the words, nevertheless.

“Is she alright? Tina?” Newt nodded and Credence echoed the gesture, almost to himself as he spoke softly, “She did tell me she’d be leaving for a bit for the baby but...I…I guess I always thought she’d come back soon…it’s been such a long time…when they took me to…to get my wand. I just kept thinking how proud she would’ve been.”

Newt smiled softly, “I’m sure she is, Credence.”

“But, well…being back in New York…it was hard…I couldn’t stop thinking about Ma and Modesty and Chastity or Mr Graves – or the one I knew and…well…the Aurors were being-…they weren’t nice and I started thinking about Fawkes, I missed him and I wanted to be back here…it feels safer…like a home I suppose and I-…I changed…the first the time in ages and they started attacking me. It was like before – they would rather kill me than wait for me to get a hold of it so I got out of there. I changed to my other form – the one like Fawkes’ – and then they couldn’t find me. I came back to here and hid, been here ever since.” He paused, breathing shakily again, “I didn’t realise that you were looking for me until Mr Graves came here – your one – and then I started thinking about coming out, of revealing myself but…I was scared you be angry with me. I’ve been hiding here for so long and I-…I saw things that I don’t think you’d want me to see…I tried to ignore it mostly but, well, it gets boring up here sometimes and-”

“I know, Credence, just…don’t think any less of me for what you saw or heard, alright?” Newt’s smile was imploring, sad and little broken and Credence nodded hastily, stumbling for words almost as much as Newt often did. 

“I-…I don’t. You were…you are…interesting. I think I learnt a lot about your creatures from watching – more than from the books definitely. Anything-…anything else I saw-…I don’t really understand but-…I think it helped me realise that Mr Grindelwald was not really your friend. He’s not looking out for you – I realised that pretty fast but…I’m still sorry that I did anything for him that might’ve hurt you.”

Newt’s heart clenched tight in his chest, the leaden feeling in his gut deepening at the genuine apology in the boy’s expression as he peered out from lanky hair. “You didn’t know any better. Grindelwald is good at making you believe that you’re doing the right thing when you’re really just playing into his hands. It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of this. I’m just glad you’ve been getting some freedom and that you’re safe.” 

“Did you-…did you mean what you said earlier? That you would…stop Mr Grindelwald?”

Newt hesitated only briefly before nodding, unsure of how to phrase his decision to the boy without alarming him further. “He’s…he’s done too many bad things for me to not try something to stop him. I know you might think he’s been helping you, but he only wants to use you and I need to stop him from hurting or using anyone else ever again.”

“I understand.” Credence said, hesitating before adding, “I was just wondering if there was anything that I could do to help? Professor Dumbledore seemed to think that I would be able to…to hurt either him or Mr Grindelwald and if you need the help-”

“No, Credence. I don’t want you involved with this.”

“But I can handle it, Newt! I promise I won’t lose control or-”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just… I think that my best chance at doing this is one on one. If I…catch him off guard…and that’s going to require a different approach than what could involve you. I’m sorry.”

Credence looked at him for a long moment before nodding slightly, legs curling into himself a bit tighter as he asked, “Are you…are you going to tell them where I am? Your Auror friends?”

Newt considered the question before hedging, “Not if you don’t want me to, but I think that it might be good to at least let Percival know that you’re safe. He’s more worried about you for your sake rather than the danger the Ministry thinks you represent. He also wanted to make sure that you hadn’t been taken by Grindelwald. We were all worried for you, Credence.”

Credence ducked his head slightly and the Phoenix – Fawkes, apparently – nudged the boy’s knee with his wing, as if comforting or bolstering him and Newt couldn’t help but smile at how well the two seemed to have bonded. “I’m sorry to have worried anyone…I guess I kinda figured that if I just disappeared then everyone would stop looking eventually and that people would be better off.” 

“Don’t think that way, Credence, you’ve got people who care for you and even if we weren’t worried about you having lost control, we still would’ve tried to find you. No one deserves to be alone.”

“Thank you, Mr-…I mean, Newt,” Credence fumbled his name out, correcting himself and looking genuinely grateful.

Newt merely smiled and glanced over the edge of the cliffside before he asked, “Right then, don’t suppose you’re hungry at all?” He eyed the younger man’s thin frame sceptically, seeing how one of his own shirts hung off him and being painfully aware that he himself wasn’t exactly in peak nourished condition.

Credence nodded and Newt levered himself over to the edge of the rockface, preparing his aching body for the descent only to be surprised when Credence interjected with a tentative smile creeping onto his lips, “I can get us down easier if you like?”

Newt nodded, bewildered and watched in awe as Credence changed back into the form mimicking the dark phoenix, fluttering up above Newt before opening his talons in apparent invitation. The Magizoologist only hesitated momentarily before taking both in a careful, firm grip and letting out a startled though admittedly joyful shout when the dark creature carried him off the edge of the cliff and went swooping swiftly down towards the ground. In a matter of seconds, both young men were on solid ground and Credence shifted swiftly back into his human form, offering a small, rather proud, pleased smile to Newt who grinned in return, clapping a hand on the younger’s shoulder. “That was fantastic, Credence!” 

The boy in question smiled wider, flushing and ducking his head but still with that little spark of pride clearly shining through his deep eyes, “Haven’t flown with anyone before but I guessed that if Fawkes could do it then so could I. Gotta use all this power for something, I suppose.”

Newt nodded approvingly, going over to his storage barrels and the worktable and hunting through them for anything salvageable for human consumption. He lucked out with three apples, some slightly overripe carrots, a sweetroll that was on the harder side and some almonds that he’d planned to give to the Fwooper but had been forced to set aside when one had hurt her beak attacking Henry and being deflected by the Zouwu’s tusks. He separated them out into portions – giving Credence the larger of the two – and handed it to the young American in a chipped blue bowl. They ate in a companionable, if slightly awkward silence on a rock in the jungle enclosure, Credence watching the shimmer of the invisible Dougal’s form moving around with interest whilst Newt, in turn, watched both. He felt a little paranoid that the boy would disappear if he took his eyes off of him for too long but at the same time, began to piece together some past events in his head with the newly- acquired knowledge of the Obscurial’s abilities and presence.

The dark shape that had been following him for so long – the one that he had at least partly assumed to be Gellert – now came into clearer focus as being the shape of the boy in front of him. The things that had gone missing or been moved in his case that he’d assumed to be the work of his creatures, most likely the Nifflers, had in fact been Credence scrounging for clothes and supplies with which to survive up there. The Phoenix’s lack of response not stemming from irritation at Newt but more protectiveness over Credence. Gellert’s words that he had before misinterpreted, “_I think that the question you might be better asking is ‘how many times MACUSA has lost Credence’, whether they were aware of it or not…I might be inclined to direct you to places that meant something to Credence. Places that he might have reason to visit. People even.”_ He had thought that Gellert had been referring to Credence’s family and home here in New York, but he had in truth been speaking of Newt himself – of his case – and also of the dark wizard’s involvement in the connection. He supposed that Grindelwald had not technically lied to him, but he was still angered to know that the man had likely known just where Credence was but had evaded the matter simply for his own selfish purposes. So that he could continue tracking Newt wherever he went through the want of freedom of an abused, scared boy. 

“Newt?” The man in question looked up from where he had been pulling apart the sweetroll in his hands, shaking some of the crumbs off before licking the glaze off of one thumb. Credence was rolling his apple through his fingers, having eaten the rest and staring down at the fruit with a pensive gaze. “I…I heard what…what you and Mr Graves – your one – said um…the last time he was in here…when you were trying to climb up…”

Newt flushed, thinking back to the event in question and feeling rather embarrassed at all that Credence must’ve witnessed. He didn’t blame the younger man for doing so but it made it no less...mortifying to think of what he had seen and heard. “I remember,” he said carefully, before offering, “Was there something that you wanted to ask me about?”

Credence bobbed his head in an affirmative. “You…you said to Mr Graves that you didn’t want him going after Grindelwald…that you thought it was too dangerous – because you-…because you two are um-…”

“Percival and I were-…are…sort of together, yes. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Newt supplied, feeling flushed at having to define what he and Percival were – especially to Credence. It wasn’t as if the younger man was raised in a particularly forgiving environment, one that would explain or advocate homosexuality. He wasn’t exactly well- versed on the subject himself and found himself nervous of what the ex-Salem boy might ask him. Newt was somewhat relieved at the question that actually spilt from the other’s lips.

“He’s an Auror, isn’t he? Wouldn’t it better for him to fight Mr Grindelwald? Isn’t he trained for this sort of thing?”

Newt felt the absurd urge to laugh and nodded instead, tilting his head .“That he is but…well, I’m not sure I could trust Percival not to let his worry or anger get the better of him. I fear that he might get carried away with trying to hurt Grindelwald rather than perhaps making the choice that would actually take him down.”

“But I thought you said he was a good man?”

“Even good men can get caught up in revenge, Credence.” He paused, sighing and examining the jungle-scape around them with distant eyes, “Especially good men.”

“And you think you won’t?” Credence asked, softly, very hesitantly.

“Won’t what?” 

“Get caught up in revenge,” The Obscurial said, looking genuinely curious but also apprehensive and guilty. “I saw…what he did to you in the tunnels…in Paris and I’ve-…I heard you…in your sleep and your…your fits or whatever they were…I saw and I-…I can tell that he hurt you more than just what I saw him do…”

Newt paled, hands clenching at his sides in repetitive, furious motions, his eyes scrunching tight shut as he fought to control his breathing. The idea that Credence had seen his weakest moments, had seen him collapse and writhe and beg at images and illusions of Grindelwald…that he’d no doubt seen Newt drugging himself up to his eyeballs, into oblivion to try to escape it all…it was a horrible thing to force on a boy like Credence. But more importantly, it was worse to have exposed the fledgling young man - the man learning to control his fury and form to become something purer and more beautiful – to have exposed him to the ugliness that Grindelwald had pushed Newt to. For the healing life Credence had been building by coming to Newt’s case to be interrupted by the Magizoologist’s trauma. It wasn’t fair. It just stoked Newt’s anger hotter. That Grindelwald had likely been reported to on Newt’s weakness…it was how he knew that Newt was still…vulnerable…why Grindelwald hadn’t ever entered Newt’s case for himself – he hadn’t needed to. He’d had his spy and Newt had been none the wiser, he hadn’t known to mediate his shows of weakness, had let himself fall apart in the presence of someone who would and could misinterpret it or – even worse – understand what was happening to him… 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Newt shook his head, both to clear the thoughts from it and to refute the younger’s apologies “No further harm done…to me, at least,” he peered closely at the boy, meeting his deep eyes past their shield of dark hair. “I’m sorry that you had to witness any of that.”

“I just wished that I could’ve helped,” Credence muttered, twisting the stem from his apple off violently and flicking it off into the forestry, fingers itching and his whole frame clearly radiating agitation, blurring just slightly at the edges. Newt was quick to change the subject, hoping to calm him before he shifted whilst nearby any of the case’s inhabitants.

“You’ve been watching for quite some time, right? So I’m guessing that you could tell me what I’ve been doing with Starktail?”

Credence blinked up at Newt as the elder wizard stood, mouth opening before closing again and he scrambled up after him, following as Newt made his way over to the Hippogriff’s enclosure. Close to where Credence had been as both Phoenixes and Hippogriff preferred mountainous, cooler climates. As they walked, the young American ventured “You’ve been treating her wing…I saw you save her from that landslide and she got hurt. Broke it, I think and you’ve been helping her move it since.” He smiled a little even if it looked puzzled and worried still. “She doesn’t like you doing that. Knocks you quite a bit whenever you get her wing moving.”

Newt nodded encouragingly, pushing back at the leaden feeling at the idea of being watched this whole time. It had been mostly innocent after all…at least from Credence’s point of view, he tried to focus on that and not the feeling of violation. “Yes, that’s right, it’s because the muscles and bones need to keep moving as they heal, otherwise they’ll atrophy and she’ll lose the use of that wing. It's been slow going but whenever I can, I try to avoid using too much wand magic on creatures. Can you tell me why that might be?” 

Credence bit his lip as they reached the enclosure, the black and silver female looking up at them warily as they stopped just outside of the fence that surrounded her area – more to keep the others from bothering her than to keep her in. “Because it's better to use natural magic? Is that why you’re always making potions and pastes and stuff like that?” Newt inclined his head and Credence seemed to brighten, voice coming out a little stronger. “You’ve been using Comfrey? I read about that one before but it took me a while to guess what it was cause it doesn’t really smell of much…” Newt nodded again, glad of how the boy’s attentions had apparently developed his understanding of both healing magic and creatures. Credence’s brows furrowed further as he tried to remember more before venturing “and…plums?”

Newt laughed but nodded all the same, “They certainly look like them, yes. They’re called Shrivel-Figs and they can be skinned to help with healing.”

Credence flushed a little but nodded, seeming eager to learn more. It warmed Newt inside to see, abating his anger to a low simmer rather than the adrenalin haze he had felt since Percival’s admittance. He still planned to go ahead with his slowly forming plan to combat Gellert and hopefully be able to overcome him but he was tempted, now, more than ever, to do so at a time when he was most likely to succeed. To survive. Now that he had more than just Percival’s welfare and sanity to worry about in the immediate danger zone should he fail. He trusted that Theseus and Tina would be safe, that they could take care of their son together once they were able. Newt just had to take care of Grindelwald in order for things to be safer again. Granted, it wasn’t the solve-all that Percival seemed to think it was, but it would help, he was sure of that. 

Credence wouldn’t be free. Not from the Ministry and not from MACUSA, but if Newt could remove the perceived threat of the Obscurial joining Grindelwald then it might just make Credence’s freedom that much easier for the authorities to deal with. Especially if Newt showed Percival how Credence had progressed; the Director could cool down the heat of the hunt for Credence once he saw that the boy was no longer as much of a danger as he once might have been. 

“Are you going to tell Mr Graves about me?” Credence’s voice broke through Newt’s musings again as he went about the familiar motions of easing Starktail’s wing out to its furthest extent and then inward again. He looked over his shoulder at the boy, carefully evading an attempt from the Hippogriff to nip his shoulder as he did so. 

“I said I wouldn’t if you don’t want me to but if I’m being honest, I think it would help let you have a bit more freedom – at least around here – if I did tell him. I would tell him how well you’re doing at controlling your Obscurus. I think he would understand if he saw what you showed me, that you can regulate it.” 

Credence chewed on his lip, eyes glued to Starktail from where he stood behind the fence, Newt having encouraged him to stay back lest the Hippogriff take offence at him for not showing the proper respect. Newt continued with his careful ministrations until he was satisfied with the limberness of the healing appendage and he stood, dusting off his trousers and still aching legs before hobbling dead-legged over the fence again. He stumbled a little as the muscles in his calves, thigh and shoulder screaming at him, having exerted himself more since his bare recovery than even he could admit was wise. Newt righted himself against the fence, breathing heavily and willing the instability away, not wanting to show more weakness in front of Credence nor feeling any desire to have to explain his injuries to the ex-Salem boy.

He gritted his teeth against the rising discomfort and made his way stiffly over to the overstuffed, mostly shredded armchair in his understudy that he’d transferred over to his case along with the enclosures from his house so many months before. He settled into it and Credence hovered nearby, looking uncomfortable until Newt gestured toward a nearby stool and the younger man sat too, perched and hunched but still looking at Newt with some curiosity. After a while longer, he nodded, just a bob of his head but an assent nonetheless and he spoke quietly, “If you think that Mr Graves will be able to help then I trust you. You can tell him.”

Newt smiled encouragingly at him. “Thank you, Credence, I won’t do it right away as I think he’s had rather a lot to deal with today.”

The boy nodded and Newt glanced over at his battered clock that sat perched upon a nearby bench, noticing that it was later than he had thought. He had been knocked out for quite some time by the blow to his still lowly- throbbing head and the time healing in the apartment, as well as his time down here, had all distracted him from the setting of the sun hours ago. Newt stood, stiffly and with a barely repressed groan before leading Credence to where Newt’s cot was, gesturing toward it with a tired hand. “You can sleep in here if you like, I can’t imagine that little cave is too comfortable after all. I’ll be up there, just outside the case entrance, if you need anything.”

Credence offered him a small smile and Newt had to fight the urge to ruffle the younger man’s unkempt hair before he headed back toward the ladder and climbed stiffly out of the case. He closed it after him, weariness and discomfort descending upon him as soon as he was out of eye and earshot of the younger man, letting his stumbling gait become more pronounced as he dropped his aching form onto the bed. Newt let out a sigh of relief as the soft mattress and sheets supported his sore legs and throbbing head. He carefully massaged the injured shoulder joint through his shirt before slipping it off along with his trousers and picking up the pot of ointment that Percival had left on the floor, forgotten beside the bed. It wasn’t quite as pleasant a process or distraction to rub the mixture into his own legs, feet and shoulder but it still soothed the pain a touch, the stretched, sore skin feeling cooler under the ointment and without the friction of clothing on top. He became less and less aware of the gently humming roar at the edge of his senses the closer he drifted to sleep but even as the sensation slipped away, Newt could not deny the outrage he sensed in it, the promises of ruin. It was with a thoroughly uneasy feeling that he let sleep claim him and had he been awake enough to feel anything more after, it would have been relief that his sleep was empty. There was no one else waiting for him on the other side. 

**Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**“What have they done to my Sweet Rosalie? No one can love her half as much as me…**

**…I fetched her out of a tree with a cane then combed out the hornets and covered her stains**

**What have they done to my Sweet Rosalie?**

**Love is a white room that cures every ill, the thicker the heart, the stronger the pill…I'm mad about her and she's crazy for me**

**…She kissed me once through the wood of her cage then left a piece of her tooth in my leg…**

**…Unbuckled the straps just to gaze at her face then blew on her spoon and offered a taste**

**How sweetly she pushed my cheek into the vase then snatched up the knife and 'round the table we chased she giggled and jabbed as wine sprayed on the lace…**

**'Till my heart gave in after giving the race she settled herself on my lap and screamed grace…” – ‘Sweet Rosalie’ – American Murder Song **

The face he wore itched like glue stuck to his skin, burned just along the edges of his notice in the haste with which he donned it, a pale, bland, forgettable face surrounded by cropped brown hair, average height and a skinny build. It was suitable, it served a purpose but it felt off. Being Graves for as long as he had had been unpleasant but at least with the length of the deception had allowed for more precautions to be used to ease the itching and uncomfortable nature of his magic. As had the power of the Elder Wand. In this instance, however, in his brief need and with a lesser instrument, he had not put the similar protections into it and had to fight to keep the face he wore in a blank, stern expression to match that of the Aurors around him. Now, he stood, alone in the hallway outside of the apartment that Newt was currently projecting his lurid thoughts and experiences from, the connection was waxing and waning along with both of their heightened emotions and was now in a state of lulling.

However, he most certainly _had_ been caught up in the reckless, ridiculous attempt at defiance – to try to get at Gellert by getting down on his knees for his clueless, feckless Auror. Despite knowing exactly what Newt was trying to do with the act, Gellert couldn’t help the rage and frustration flowing through him in simmering waves. That Newt would cause himself pain and endanger his health so soon after _Gellert_ had been the one to save him from those deluded Muggle scum just to rub it into him that he was shut out from the younger man’s life. Quite literally as Graves’ quick dismissal of him in his disguised form had demonstrated. The sensations of what Newt had done and felt still thrummed along Gellert’s senses in infuriating freshness – the thrill and self-satisfaction that the blasted boy had felt from pleasuring Percival whilst making sure that Gellert was aware of it…using Gellert’s reckless pull of magic between them to help keep Newt grounded – to use it against him…

Both he and his pup would come to regret it.

Gellert had been willing to be patient with Newt, had been willing to demonstrate his affection at a more sedate pace that the Magizoologist seemed to prefer – so that he could accept it on his own. Thought that he had had the time with which to do so. After seeing Newt at his side in the blasted mirror that Albus had shown him, smiling with only his gleaming green eyes, dressed to enhance his beauty and accepting of Gellert’s advances – united in magic, blood and bond. Rulers, on a joint throne, above all else and revelling in the new world order that allowed for both of their desires to be realised. Exquisitely powerful dark beasts free and Muggles and the unworthy subjugated in their proper place below it all. Newt sat upon the left arm of his throne, sprawled and at ease with Gellert’s hand petting his copper curls as the boy’s head rested upon Grindelwald’s shoulder…those plump lips parted just slightly as he leant into the touch he craved…that he couldn’t live without since he accepted his place…Gellert’s love…just as it should be… 

But then again, there had been more to the vision. An aspect that Gellert had not anticipated.

Albus.

He had been there too, stood to his right, a hand on the head of the intricately carved ebony throne and one conjoined with Gellert’s, blood and fire binding them once more. The strands of flame, blood and silver binding them all like veins running through the three. It had looked unspeakably _right_ to him in a way he didn’t know how to describe despite his usual prolixity. It had been what drove him from that blasted school of Albus’ in such haste – the demonstration of something close to what his old partner had wanted him to see. Like it or not, Gellert had still seen Albus involved in his desired future – the one that contradicted so harshly with what his visions had told him was coming.

There were variations, of course, there always were, but what Grindelwald saw in his own future and Albus’ was not the former’s victory not the latter’s demise at his hand. He saw Albus’ death. The fall and the betrayal…but not for some time yet. All by Albus’ design and completely against Gellert’s control. He would be powerless to stop any of it in the end but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t…tweak the events leading up to the inevitable end so that so might not be as alone as he saw in one version of his own future. That Newt might remain in it.

But this newest betrayal, this rejection, this callous, uncharacteristic disregard for another from his precious Newt…it couldn’t go unpunished. As much as Gellert wished to allow the course of time and courtship, of familiarity, to bring Newt to him – once his little Auror pup was out of the picture of course – he could not let such a spiteful, stubborn gesture go unpunished. Newt had to learn that endangering his health and making pointless shows of defiance by fornicating with the unworthy was not something that Gellert would either reward or ignore. Whilst he understood that the boy was in a…decidedly delicate place right now with the continued aggravations upon his slipping sanity, he decided that this would be a good a time as any to make his point. He would give him until their agreed-upon meeting, allow things to proceed and let Newt revel in his little victory before he retaliated. Gellert would make sure that Graves was suitably chastised as well, apparently, his fitting punishment to bring out his bestial, unworthy nature was not enough to deter him. Grindelwald could remedy that. 

He was forced to step back from the door, to the opposite wall, as Graves exited the apartment, expression conflicted but attempting to mask it in the presence of his perceived subordinate and Grindelwald was quick to adopt the proper manner. “Everything alright, sir?”

Graves nodded distractedly, eyes finally landing on the face of Auror Bennet that Grindelwald was wearing and appraising him sternly, “Yes, quite.”

“Do you require me to keep watch here any longer?” Grindelwald inquired, playing the part of the dutiful Auror but also anticipating the potential for being able to enter the safehouse without using excessive force and keeping watch over Newt. Perhaps having a little fun while he was at it. There was something indescribably irresistible about seeing Newt vulnerable yet at ease – the slumber of the damaged, beautiful creature.

“I appreciate the offer, Bennet, but I think Harkaway will be able to take over soon enough. You should get back to base to report in before heading home.”

“No need, sir, I’m fine doing a night shift if you need it.”

Graves looked at him with a tight expression, brows knitting before he asked, “I thought you’d jump at the chance to get the night off to be with your girl.”

Grindelwald inwardly cursed his lack of preparation for this particular deception, not having expected any personal details to be needed for the brief impersonation – especially when he thoughts Graves would have been plenty distracted by his ailing Newt. He improvised and forced a rueful smile upon the face he wore, “She’s out of town at the moment, sir, plenty of free time if you need me to keep an eye on Scamander for you.”

Graves nodded slowly, eyes unreadable before he stepped aside from the door and gestured for Grindelwald to pass him, “Go on in then, Bennet.”

Grindelwald nodded back to him in a brisk manner, mimicking the MACUSA Aurors’ façade of business-like subservience to their leaders. He was so caught up in his eagerness of having fooled the Director that he didn’t notice his mistake until it was a moment too late. The second he tried to step foot over the warded doorway, three Sigils on either side of the frame glowed bright and there was a flash of white light before Gellert was suddenly frozen in place and he felt the false face melt away under the Thieves’ downfall.

“Thought so,” He heard Graves’ voice snarl behind him and he was then tugged backwards through the doorway and into the hallway, the door shutting immediately and Graves standing over Grindelwald’s still frozen form sprawled against the opposite wall.

He smiled up at Graves grimly, playfulness twisting the edges of his lips as he spoke. “Well done, Percy, you’re getting better at this than I gave you credit for. What was it that made you suspicious enough to test me?”

Graves glared, wand twitching in his fist at his side. “Newt. He was damn terrified the moment he saw you. Seemed confused as hell when he saw us together and when I suggested that _Bennet_ come in to help heal him, he couldn’t say no fast enough.” 

Gellert grinned at him, completely unrepentant. “I didn’t want to risk my little Newt thinking he had lost his wits when he heard my voice in his head again. So I let him in on this humble deception.”

Graves’ eyes narrowed. “I thought you couldn’t mess with his head anymore, or was that just another lie?”

“All magic has loopholes, Percy, even the strongest of spells has workarounds. Brings a balance to nature and all that, I suppose.”

Graves bent forward in a swift movement, fisting his collar, wand pressing tight to Grindelwald’s throat, tilting his chin up and the Auror snarled his words into his face, brown eyes glinting furiously, “Answer the damn question.”

Grindelwald laughed delightedly, amused that the Auror was under the impression that he had any real control of the situation and quickly remedying that assumption by removing the binding spell from himself and gripping Graves’ wrist, apparating before the American could do more than widen his eyes. Gellert rolled away and to his feet the second they landed, standing upright, silhouetted against the dimming evening sky, the red of the setting sun bleeding through the blue-grey clouds that enveloped the riverside of the Williamsburg Bridge. It was an open enough space and far enough away from most of the foot traffic at this time that they needn’t be concerned with too many interruptions – be it from pesky Muggles or the reinforcements that Graves would’ve likely called for once he discovered Grindelwald.

He knew Graves, knew that the man would try to keep fighting away from any potential casualties, and pre-empted him by changing the location of his own volition. This way, he held the tactical advantage of not being disoriented by the other’s apparation and Gellert, being the pragmatist he was, took that advantage without a second’s thought. He flung a cavalcade of curses at the Auror, feeling the exhilaration of a potentially interesting duel thrum into life as Graves combatted and dodged them with surprising dexterity, his anger fuelling his movements as he retaliated. Grindelwald was unsurprised to find two unforgivable curses amongst those being volleyed at him.

“No sense of Auror’s propriety left in you then, Graves?” Grindelwald called lightly, allowing the challenge to shine through in his mismatched eyes. Graves did not reply, merely shot another bolt of Cruciatus toward him which Gellert dodged neatly, sidestepping and sending a wave of river water raging over the Auror instead. He was caught up in the deluge but managed to halt his collision with the stone foundations of the bridge and sent the same barrage of water back at Grindelwald. Gellert twisted it up into a cloud above them that then dissipated into a shower of rocks that dropped once more, coming from all angles at the Auror.

Graves was forced to pick which areas of himself to defend as the enchanted projectiles forced their way through his preliminary shield and Grindelwald smiled to himself as he heard violent cursing when the rocks found their target. Though the American managed to protect his head and wand arm, they still struck at Graves’ knees, back, and his scarred side; it brought him staggering back and Gellert was quick to bring the stone of the bridge to life to embrace Graves from behind, pulling him halfway back into the stone and cementing his arms and the backs of his legs into the structure. Despite his wand still being in his hand, Grindelwald knew that Graves was unlikely to be able to use it with any true effect with both the appendage and instrument being encased in concrete.

Graves tugged at the stone trapping him but ceased when he clearly realised that continuing to do so would only result in dislocating or detaching his shoulders and injuring himself enough to present even more vulnerability should he manage to free himself. Gellert smiled at him patiently, not feeling the desire to end Graves just then – he still had a plan for dealing with the Auror that he was quite determined now to let play out. This was more just a warm-up, a duel and punishment brought upon the Director by his own anger and actions.

“Comfortable?” he asked innocently and Graves merely glared, eyes hard and focussed as Gellert stepped closer, wand held loosely at his side in a clear warning. “You should know better, Percy. Haven’t we been here before? Never seems to end too well for you, now does it?”

“Go fuck yourself, you sadistic bastard,” Graves growled and Gellert merely clucked disapprovingly, relishing the rage on the other man’s face, practically tasting the frustration that was rippling off of him.

“Really, now. No need for language like that. I would have thought you’d be in a much better mood after our lovely little Newt got down on his knees for you. Would’ve thought it might’ve released a little of the tension you’ve been wallowing in for so long.”

Shock flickered across Graves’ face and Grindelwald chuckled, nodding encouragingly, “Yes, I know about that. Newt told you he was making a point, didn’t he?”

“How are you doing this? How are you getting in his head again?” Graves repeated his earlier question with tense frustration and Grindelwald tilted his head.

“If it lessens your oh-so-righteous fury, Percy, I’m not in there anymore. It was a temporary push. You’ve seen the scars left by the bond’s removal, I trust? Similar scars were left in Newt’s mind as well – all of ours in fact – and when exquisite, overbearing pain comes over one of us, the other two feel it. Newt and I all the more strongly as the connection between us was strengthened by use. When he was being hurt, tortured, burned, I felt it. And I repaid that hurt in kind to those Muggle _Abschaum der Erde_.”

He let his own rage twist around the words, thinking of just how he’d discovered Newt in that damn derelict building, nearing unconsciousness or worse, those nearest him blown backwards by an instinctive burst of the Magizoologist’s magic but the rest advancing upon him all the more viciously because of it. Predators descending upon the downed deer to rip its carcass clean. But Gellert delighted in being the superior predator. The one that killed them all without a drop of unworthy blood being spilt. He didn’t sully the earth with the blood of the worthless. The magic that ended them all was quick and humane – a just slaughter.

Graves was staring at him in shocked fury and he indulged the other further by explaining. “Yes, it was me who rescued Newt where you failed to. Had he been solely relying upon your aid, you would have arrived to find only a corpse – burnt and empty and the Abschaum that murdered him would have merely faced obliviation before they were sent about their merry way.” Grindelwald’s lips twisted, bitter and mocking, and his gaze was derisive, “You really should be thanking me for ridding you of one of your problems as well as saving what you claim to cherish so. It’s a wonder how you continually fail to protect what you covet, Percy. It's pathetic, really.”

“Don’t act so superior when you’re the one doing the most harm to Newt simply by still breathing,” Graves snarled, eyes shining and limbs straining against their imprisonment with futile ferocity. “You tortured Newt – repeatedly. You abused him. You stole his body and used it to hurt people. You manipulated him. You hurt the people he cares about. You murdered his father. You _raped_ him because you’re too deluded to understand that he doesn’t want anything to do with you.” 

Gellert’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared in barely- repressed irritation. “You think that Newt wants nothing to do with me, do you? Then why has he kept my presence here a secret from you? I visited him the day he arrived and he said nothing to warn you either then or today. Why do you think that might be?”

Graves’ expression darkened, “Because you likely threatened him. Or me. Or hell, even his creatures. Who knows what depravity you wouldn’t sink to?”

“Don’t assume yourself so superior, Graves. I know the depths you’ve sunk to in your hunt to find me. You’ve tortured, you’ve killed, you’ve manipulated. All for a personal vendetta, a jealousy that you can’t shake because you fear the words I speak are true. You aren’t certain enough of Newt’s feelings for me that you could risk leaving me alive. You want to remove the temptation. Leave Newt with no other choice but to accept you and to see you as his saviour.” He hissed the next words into Graves’ ear with quiet venom, “_It's sick_.” 

Graves didn’t even flinch before he spat in Grindelwald’s face, eyes harder than the concrete that trapped him. “It's you who’s sick. That you think - that you would even _consider -_ the idea that Newt would go to you if you killed me. Just think how he reacted when you stole his damn memories! You ended up giving them back because you saw you were still losing him to someone he couldn’t even properly remember.” Graves’ eyes glimmered, sadly but with fierce determination and barely repressed rage. “You can’t win him over through murder or manipulation. The day that you kill anyone Newt truly cares about is the day that you really lose him. Whatever crazy hold you have over him. _Gone_.”

Grindelwald wiped the spit from his cheek calmly, the rage that was flowing through him of the most dangerous kind – the kind that allowed for sanity and forethought but still guaranteed retribution. He wouldn’t let his plans go much further awry other than perhaps a few small, ultimately redundant hiccups and Graves wasn’t going to taunt or ague him into changing that. He fixed Graves with a thin, hard smile, lip twitching just slightly before he sent a blasting spell at the American who admittedly impressed him the slightest bit by not crying out as the rock surrounding him exploded, the concrete fragments leaving bleeding gashes all over him. The aim here was not to kill, to truly punish, no, that would come later, once Gellert had made his point to both stubborn men. It didn’t mean he didn’t relish the shock or pain on Graves’ face as he wrested himself free from the concrete remnants and threw himself away from his erstwhile temporary prison. He allowed a fraction of his malice to show on his face as he shot deliberately misaimed curses after Graves, playing at anger as the spells just barely missed – close enough to not be obvious he was allowing Graves’ escape.

The Auror seemed to be enduring, however, probably still hoping to defeat Gellert even as he weaved and dodged the spells and only apparated when Grindelwald turned the air around him to fire. Gellert did not pursue. He knew Graves would flee now, that he would confront Newt and that he would convince the bright young thing to flee with him, the full moon was coming soon and Gellert knew exactly where Graves would have to go. 


	13. Misery upon the Moor

**“I heard an angel's voice, singing in quiet prayer, it seemed to pull my heart, slowly straight up the stairs. **

**I spent that night awake, though you lay fast asleep, I saw a teardrop fall, gently down your cheek. **

**You still love him but he does too, he'll take him far away from you**

**I crept out of the house, and tip-toed to your room but found your body gone, and left was just a hollow tomb. **

**I think that love's like falling into the deepest sleep, I wake and try to move again but find my body's rendered weak.” – ‘You still love him’ – White Lies**

He was mere days away from his next transformation. He could feel it humming and tearing at the fragile feeling edges of his human skin, making it feel as though the claws he would soon sprout were raking against his nerve endings with increasing frequency. It always caused him to become more irritable in the run-up to the full moon, as Newt had said, but the part that couldn’t quite put into words was describing just how much everything was heightened as a result. Whilst the grating and tingling in his scars was increased, he could also smell, hear and see better, the world taking on sharper focus, and though the discomfort was an adequate distraction most of the time, there were moments – such as now – when his instincts went into overdrive. That primary instinct now being to protect Newt. It was almost all he could think of since the moment he saw Newt passed out, his flesh charred and smoking, on the floor of the burnt-out hall. Especially since he realised that the trusted Auror assisting him was not, in fact, whom he seemed to be. Percival didn’t know if it had just been Newt’s palpable fear and confusion or if his enhanced senses had picked up on something horribly familiar in Grindelwald, but whatever it was had prompted him to challenge the wizard the second he started pushing to stay with Newt. It had grated at him and the ensuing fight and chase had been fuelled primarily by the need to get the bastard away from Newt.

Now, however, he knew that Newt was safer with him than apart. He apparated on a sporadic route, bouncing around different points of the city just in case Grindelwald followed him, but something told him that his escape had been deliberately allowed. He eventually just went straight back to the apartment because he knew that if Grindelwald was going to find him, he would do so regardless. All he had to do now was lock himself down before the full moon in nearly two days and get Newt somewhere close by but safe – both from his own bestial form and from Grindelwald. He appeared outside and knocked impatiently upon the door, unsure of how much time he had before Grindelwald found him and feeling that speed was the best tactic regardless. A minute or so later, Newt opened the door looking very ruffled, trousers hastily put on and shirt open, just barely hiding his slim, scarred form; he looked as if he’d only just woken and Percival barely paused before he stepped in, closing the door behind himself.

Newt rubbed one hand over his eyes and pushed his messy hair from his forehead, peering through his fringe at Percival with confusion and concern, taking in his battered, dusty form and stern expression. “What is it?”

“You need to pack up your things, Newt, we have to leave.” When Newt didn’t move, the Auror snapped “Now!” The Magizoologist flinched but began to obey, glancing back over his shoulder as he collected the few items from around the room that he had left out of his case. 

“What happened?”

“Grindelwald.”

He saw Newt freeze where he was crouched before he stiffly stood, case in hand and coat summoned to ensconce him swiftly, a stern expression falling over the younger man’s face to match his own, jaw tight and eyes dark. He didn’t speak but his body language told Percival all he needed – Newt had known of Grindelwald’s presence in New York and was now obviously debating whether or not to feign ignorance. Percival decided to beat him to it and not beat around the bush. “He told me you knew, Newt. I know he probably coerced your silence and it doesn’t matter right now. I confronted him, we fought and now, I need to get you out of the city.”

Newt’s tainted-green eyes widened but seemed to catch on to Percival’s urgency and he followed him from the apartment. “How did you know it was him?”

“Your reaction,” Percival replied shortly, turning to Newt and gripping his arm firmly though not harshly in preparation to apparate, barely giving Newt a nod of confirmation before turning on the spot. They reappeared on a familiar stretch of dismal moor. Newt looked suitably bewildered at the destination and Percival explained himself as they walked, pushing on through the dark landscape and sludge- drenched path to his old family home. The strain of the long-distance apparation causing his first few steps to be shaky ones indeed before he found his usual stride again. “We need somewhere I can transform safely and you can stay away from Grindelwald for a bit. Until I can come up with a better solution after the full moon. For now, this is safe enough, I’d wager.” Newt followed, hesitant but tenacious nonetheless as his grip tightened upon his case, clutching it to him as he ventured back toward the awful place that had been his prison for long months in the previous year. 

“You’re not hurt?” He felt Newt’s hand close around his upper arm firmly, turning Percival to him as they walked so that the Brit could examine his face, concern shining in his wide blue-green eyes. Percival shrugged him off and continued moving, not harshly but enough to emphasize his urgency further over Newt’s concern for his wellbeing. The Magizoologist caught his arm as they approached the house, spinning him more decisively and forcing eye contact by bracketing him with a hand on each of Percival’s shoulders, gaze firm and broaching no more evasions.

Percival sighed as he relented, facing Newt, ankle-deep in the mud and framed by swirling grey clouds threatening more rain. “I’m fine. He trapped me for a bit whilst he was ranting his usual drivel but I got away and I’m_ fine_. But neither of us will be if we don’t get inside and get the defences up pretty soon, there’s another full day before the moon reaches its peak but I can get pretty-…_unfriendly_ before that happens. It’d be better if we were inside before we get into this. I can’t protect either of us once I start to change, not with any reliability.”

Newt nodded after a few moments and released Percival’s shoulder, taking his hand instead and pulling him onward by it with fierce determination – as if he were afraid that he would lose his nerve if he didn’t enter the building as fast as he could. Percival could understand, he’d had enough of a taste of being trapped in the cellar beneath the house to know even a fraction of the fear Newt must have for the place. Somewhere that he had been kept in to prevent him from hurting others and as a direct result of something that had been forced upon him by Gellert _fucking_ Grindelwald. Oh yes, he could certainly understand that now.

He went through the familiar pattern of temporarily dismantling the wards surrounding the place but was surprised to find that they had been taken apart already, the basic ones still in place but the blood-bound ones lowered. He drew his wand swiftly, glancing back to Newt with firm resolve “Someone’s here. No one should be able to get past the blood-bound magic except my family but I can’t discount Grindelwald having somehow worked a way around it. Stay behind me and if things go wrong, don’t fight, just run.”

Newt drew his wand, tightening his grip on both it and his case and didn’t reply as Percival stepped through the entrance and edged his way along the dim hallway. The parlour room doorway was open and glimmering with the light of the fireplace and the candelabra and he took a deep breath before stepping swiftly into the room, hand grabbing the collar of the nearest figure and turning to slam them into the large centrepiece table. He was caught thoroughly off-guard however when his grabbing hand was stung and he was pushed back by a magical force. Over his shoulder he saw Newt stepping forward, quickly disarming the intruder and stepping in front of Percival even as the Auror rallied from his momentary lapse. He fought not to laugh, however, as the sullen- faced woman in front of them fixed both with a mollifying look and put her elegant, weathered hands on her shawl- draped hips before commenting in a harsh, broadened familiar Irish husk, “Is this how you treat your dear old Ma, Percy dear?”

He flushed slightly as a bewildered Newt glanced between them, the younger man flushing too and opening his mouth to apologise profusely before he was cut off by the Graves matriarch as she looked at him with an oddly respectful reproach that was almost sympathetic. “None of that, Mr Scamander, you at least had the decency to disarm rather than just grab me like an uncouth savage.” She turned sharp green eyes back to her son, “Really, Percy, I thought I’d taught you better duelling etiquette than that.” 

Percival floundered for only a second before settling back into a resolute scowl, stowing his wand after briefly casting a few revealing charms upon the woman in front of him. He was only half-relieved to find nothing amiss. “Didn’t expect anyone to be here, Ma, not with the damn place empty for well over twenty years.”

She fixed him with a disapproving look. “Don’t you think I’d know when you started using this place? The family spells work for more than just you; you should’ve known better.” She sniffed, glancing about the room before her eyes came back to Percival, “I came to find out just what brought you here so regularly – every full moon I might add.” Her eyes skated over to Newt, “And with company.”

Newt shifted awkwardly on his feet and Percival sidled closer to the younger man, feeling the need to shield his partner from his mother’s superior, penetrating gaze. “Yes, sorry, Ma, this is Newt and-”

“Yes, yes, I know who he is, Percy, I used his name didn’t I? I’m more curious as to why you’ve repeatedly brought him here of all places but not properly introduced any of the family to him.”

Newt clearly felt the need to interject there and stepped forward, away from Percival and bravely stuck out his hand for her to shake, looking at her through his fringe but not quite meeting her eyes. Something he knew that his mother would no doubt notice and judge excessively. She surprised both of them, however – if the look on Newt’s face and slowly dropping hand was anything to go by – when she gripped his hand and shook it strongly, eyes gliding over him appraisingly. Newt managed a somewhat feeble, “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Graves.” And handed her back her wand with his free hand, Percival clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder in encouragement as Newt separated from the handshake. 

“Polite,” She remarked approvingly. “But neither of you have told me why you’ve been coming here yet. For months now, I’ve been busy enough to ignore it but I expect answers. I thought we had all agreed that this place lie alone.” 

Percival paused, thoroughly reluctant to inform his mother of his attack or the resulting transformations. And most especially not of Newt’s incarceration which she was probably aware of, too. Newt surprised him, however, by answering for him: “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Graves, I’ve been worried about Percival working so much and I was keen to learn more about his family. We came to this idea a while back and come here whenever he gets some time off.”

She stared at him with raised eyebrows and Percival fought the urge to wince, hoping that Newt was convincing enough in his apologetic, bumbling Englishness for Ma to believe him. She broke the silence by snorting slightly and commenting, “Damn odd place to holiday but from what I’ve heard about you, Mr Scamander – not entirely surprising. S’pose you’ve been trekking through the mud to find more creatures for yer book then too?” 

Newt nodded, thinking quick on his feet and surprising Percival further, causing him to smother a smile, “I’m pretty sure that there are signs of Kelpies and Stray Sod in the Moors around this place.”

His mother blinked and Newt gladly latched onto her questioning gaze, likely trying to stick to the subject to abate his nerves as he elaborated, “Stray Sod are creatures that look like normal patches of grass in the bog but they’re quite alive. They’re often responsible for people getting lost in Moors and you can only really find your way again by turning your coat inside out.”

“Well, that’s…certainly something.” She responded and Percival couldn’t hold in his snicker at the uncharacteristically wrong-footed response from his mother.

Percival cut in before anything too embarrassing or damaging could occur by asking, “What made you come here yourself? You could’ve just asked.”

She seemed glad of the distraction from answering Newt even if a little irritated at Percival’s brashness, “It was my damn home and you’ve been ignoring me more than you ever used to lately, I figured I’d get a better answer by coming here myself and it seems I was proved right.”

“Well, not to be rude but this isn’t exactly the best time for you to be-”

“Don’t you go telling me you’ve dragged your trouble to this doorstep, Percival. What is it now?”

Percival sighed irritably at having to explain himself to his mother like an errant teenager being scolded for staying out too late. Something he most certainly had experience with in his younger years and had about as much patience for it now as he had then. “It’s Grindelwald, Ma. Now I can’t explain everything to you and it’d be far safer for everyone involved if you left.” He saw his mother’s opening her mouth to scold him further and pre-empted her by adding, “I promise I’ll visit if either of us actually survives to do so.” 

She glared for a few seconds, drawing herself up to her formidable height and iron-grey bun quivering slightly at the nape of her skinny neck. “Alright then, but take care of yourself.” She turned to Newt who was thoroughly examining his shoes but managed to meet her stern gaze when she silently demanded it, “And you take care of him. Lord only knows neither of ye seems to have any sense of self-preservation. Maybe between the two of you, you’ll actually manage it.”

“I’ll do my best,” Newt nodded and whatever she saw in his gaze must’ve satisfied her as she headed for the nearest fireplace, causing Percival to frown.

“Ma, you know the Floo-network isn’t connected here.”

She turned sharply to glare at him, “You think I wouldn’t keep a link to my old home? How could you think that anything in this house would really stay secret for long?” She sniffed disdainfully, taking a handful of powder from a jar over the mantel and stepping into the fireplace. “I’ll keep some rare steaks around for the next time I see you, better be damn soon too, young man.”

She disappeared in an engulfing bout of green flame with a spoken destination being the last echo she left audibly, though Percival was left more shook by her previous words. His mother already knew he was a werewolf. Heaven only knew how she’d found out but it had probably had something to do with the timings of his visits here. She probably knew he’d be using the room for its intended purpose. He was somewhat touched that she’d known and hadn’t sought to interfere as he had worried that she would and even better, she hadn’t seemed to instantly condemn Newt. It was such a jarring change of pace from the previous concerns about Grindelwald’s pursuit and his own transformation that he was left staring dumbly into the empty fireplace for several minutes before Newt gently took his hand and offered him a thin smile.

“She seems…nice.”

Percival laughed, a genuine, full-bodied thing and squeezed Newt’s hand, feeling a similar adrenalin and nerve-induced tremor running through the other that was running through him. He pulled Newt into his chest, feeling the Magizoologist exhale a long breath against his neck as their arms wrapped around one another. “I think she likes you well enough,” he muttered into Newt’s hair and the Brit laughed too. 

“Really?” he asked dubiously and Percival nodded, drawing back to stare at him very seriously indeed.

“Of course she does, after you disarmed her like that if she didn’t like you, she would’ve hexed you halfway to Killarney. She must’ve been won over by your talk on sentient grass and unusual clothing habits.”

Newt giggled and Percival almost grinned at the practically unheard-of sound. “I’m serious, Newt, where do you think I got my duelling prowess from?”

Newt grinned at him, “I figured it was what you spent your time practising when you weren’t brooding.”

Percival’s smile broke through properly then, “Brooding now, is it? I’m not the one who disappears for months on end to live in remote locations on my own.”

Newt’s expression became more guarded then and Percival softened his expression, trying to tell Newt without words that he didn’t genuinely hold Newt’s absences against him. The younger man seemed to understand as he smiled back softly and dipped his head. “I wasn’t alone but I suppose I can’t deny that I might have more of a tendency to brood in a more literal sense. I’m a mother to half of the creatures in my care by either adoption or circumstance.” 

“True,” Percival conceded. “Speaking of which, do you know what happened with Tina? Are she and the baby alright?”

Newt nodded, brightening slightly in a brittle manner, “Both alive and well the last time I saw them. I was there, you see, when Edwin was born. Theseus was gone and I only got Queenie there afterwards.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that as well,” Percival began, a frown marring his features at the thought of all that he’d missed in his righteous, rigorous rage haze. “I heard the official report of what happened to Theseus but I get the feeling that the timing, the coincidence of his injury and Tina’s disappearance, wasn’t an accident.”

Newt paused before admitting, “Yes. Thee’s been experiencing problems in the Ministry for a while and he decided that then was the time to go into hiding. Faking a hospitalising injury and working at rooting out the traitors and troublemakers while he wasn’t in the public eye. He wanted Tina and Edwin safe too, obviously, so he arranged for them to be hidden away back in the States, somewhere.” He looked a little forlorn then, “I haven’t seen any of them since that day.” 

“I’m also guessing that was the day you got that damn bounty put on your head?”

Newt nodded, “Seemed like a good way to distract the Ministry. It would’ve been suspicious if I’d walked out of the heart of the Ministry building after talking to Limerine – Theseus’ successor – without incident. It also took some of the heat off Theseus’ ruse to have them looking for me.” His lips pressed into a thin line, “Apparently, they wanted to use me as bait to trap Grindelwald and to get information on him.”

Percival was hesitant to voice his thoughts but did so in a careful tone anyway, “I could understand why you wouldn’t want to give information about what happened between you and him – any of it – but if you got Grindelwald somewhere with enough plans and Aurors…well, it could work.”

Newt’s lips pursed further and he shook his head. “I think that if Theseus trusted any of his Aurors to do it properly and not end up with a lot of people dead, he would’ve suggested it himself.” He paused, “I honestly don’t know if it would work but I don’t want the deaths of dozens of people on my conscience.”

It was then that Percival decided resolutely that he would never tell Newt of the Salemers’ fate. It had been Grindelwald who had killed them even if Newt had supposedly knocked them away – what Newt had done had been self-defence, what Grindelwald had done had been cold-blooded murder…even if it did ease the knot of righteous rage in Percival just a little to know that those deluded fools wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again. He doubted that all of them had been bad people – probably just scared and obsessed with believing in a higher power they were told could help them. They hadn’t deserved their fate. And Newt didn’t need any more guilt to be laid upon his already straining shoulders.

Instead, he pulled Newt back into his arms again briefly before holding him at arm’s length, “I understand. You probably made the right decision. I just hope Theseus knows what he’s getting himself into with this undercover business – it's more taxing than most people realise and plugging leaks takes a long time. It’s a job that’s never really done.”

Newt nodded, “I know. But it's his decision. I’m sure that if anyone can raise a child singlehandedly, it’s Tina.” He seemed to consider for a few moments before venturing with a small, blossoming smile, “Maybe we can help her once things calm down a bit.” 

Encouraged by Newt’s brief ray of optimism, Percival nodded and smiled supportively, “Nice to hear there’s a ‘_we’_ in your thoughts.”

Newt’s cheeks coloured a little but he dipped his head in agreement nonetheless, “Seems a bit silly at this point to deny the way I feel or that we’re both better together than we are apart.” He met Percival’s eyes warmly, lips twitching into a small grin, “And seeing as your mother apparently doesn’t hate me just yet, I feel like it’d be a foolish thing to back out now.”

Percival felt the warm feeling in his chest expand and he leant forward instinctively, capturing Newt’s warm, pink lips in a tender motion that melted and melded both of them together as Newt relaxed into him. Slender, work-worn hands slid down Percival’s sides to his hips, pulling him forward and deepening the kiss. Percival was well- versed enough in their kisses now to recognise the need that lay in it, and after his previous recklessness with Newt, he was determined to go slow this time – to savour the experience. Unfortunately, just as the last time, Newt’s touch and tenacity were enough to have him undone. He was forced to grab Newt’s wrists and physically push him out to arm’s length to stop to Magizoologist’s hands wandering past the point of return for his frayed nerves and sense of control. “Newt, as much as I appreciate the enthusiasm – really, I do – I’m only just hanging on as it is. I’m fighting the urge to do a thousand things at once that I shouldn’t be doing with this little patience.”

Newt nipped a kiss against his neck and he forced down a groan as the younger man’s warm breath and tongue traced over his collarbone as he spoke: “Who’s to say I mind a little impatience?”

“No, Newt, I don’t want to risk hurting you in a way I couldn’t take back.”

Newt’s eyes flashed with comprehension as he leant back and nodded slowly, “You’re more likely to turn someone with a bite or scratch closer to the full moon.”

Percival nodded. “I know it’s a small chance but I’m not willing to risk it. Not with you and definitely not now.” The idea of both of them going through the turn – Newt’s first and because of him – whilst they were being hunted by Grindelwald was a terrifying prospect. It would present a vulnerability that neither could risk at the best of times, let alone now. He went on to explain further, however, as Newt looked unsure, ready to argue clearly and admitted, “It’s not just that though, you-…you surprised me back in New York but I don’t think that you rushing into things like this after so long is a good idea. You’ve…you’ve been through a lot and I think that it might’ve been a reaction brought about by stress or Morgana- knows what else and-”

Newt cut him off with a kiss, a soft one that was in no way demanding more and the younger man parted from him soon after, hands still in Percival’s grip even as it loosened to the point of a caress. “Okay, I get it,” he took a deep breath. “I think you’re probably right about the…stress of everything but it doesn’t mean that I regret it at all…it’s the first time that I’ve been able to even think about doing anything like that without thinking of…_him_.”

Percival’s brows furrowed, “He said that you were making a point to him. That he was in your head then.”

Newt flushed slightly but dipped his head in assent, “I was. And he was, but I didn’t get the usual…memories or become confused. I knew where he was. That he was away and it…made it feel safer. To know that I could do what I wanted to do and that he could it was by my agency, and that he was unable to interfere.” 

Percival stared at him, unsure of how to handle the admittance – half of him was thoroughly unnerved by the invasiveness of Grindelwald being in Newt’s head again, especially when he’d been on his knees with his lips around Percival’s cock. No, that was far from a comforting thought. But then, it was somewhat hopeful that Newt seemed to be reaching a place of confidence in himself again – misguided or not. He just hoped that this feeling of safety, of this daring, wasn’t going to pull itself out from under Newt at any moment and cause him to relapse. He searched Newt’s face and found determination, a touch of uncertainty, tenderness and also, most surprisingly of all – anger. It didn’t seem aimed at Percival or himself and the former could only guess that it was directed at where it should have been all along. At Grindelwald.

“But he’s not in your head anymore?” Percival asked, reaffirming it just in case Grindelwald had been lying – as he was want to do – and Newt thankfully shook his head.

“No, no idea how he got back in though.”

“He said that it was remnants of the blood-bond – he called them scars – and that he felt you being hurt.” Percival’s lip curled in anger and disgust, “Bastard thought it was just _exquisite _the way those Salemers hurt you.”

Newt’s jaw tightened and Percival regretted his incensed outburst, “Sorry, Newt, I-”

“It’s fine, Percival. I’m not surprised but…” his expression crumpled slightly, confusion marring the green of his tainted eyes, “He helped me get out. He calmed me down enough when I-…when I started to lose it and reminded me that I could get past the suppressor if I put enough power through it.” An empty smirk marred his lips, “Got me angry enough to break through.”

Percival didn’t know how to respond to that and was somewhat relieved when Newt’s distant expression sharpened back into focus and he blinked, seeming to realise how his words had sounded and attempting to rectify it, “Not that I’m grateful to him or anything. Never.”

“No,” Percival echoed, eyes searching Newt’s again, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for this time. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get there sooner in the first place.”

The image of the vast expanse of Newt’s burnt flesh and bleeding, punctured shoulder, shredded thigh, of his bruised face and split lips…it had seared behind his eyes to join with the images of all the other agonies that he’d been unable to prevent being inflicted upon Newt. It made him feel useless, guilty but above all, all the more determined to keep Newt safe from now on and if that meant leaving more intimacy between them until after the highest risk of accidentally hurting him was over, then that was what he’d do. Even if his more bestial, adrenalin-fuelled side was screaming at him to do otherwise. To tackle Newt into the dining table behind him, bend him over the damn thing and claim him right then and there. To reduce him to a quivering, pleasure-filled mess and then take him all over again until-…no, no, he couldn’t do that. Not now. Not only was it dangerous but it could hurt Newt more than just physically. True, it had been a long time since Grindelwald had assaulted Newt in the worst way possible but he couldn’t be sure of what had happened in the months in between. He couldn’t be sure of what Newt wouldn’t tell him about that happened in Berlin.

Newt’s hand clasped his softly between them and the younger man prompted him to meet his eyes again. “I don’t blame you, Percival. You got there as soon as you could. Gellert only got there sooner because he was in my head.”

“Still.”

“Still what, Percy? Unless you stoop to messing with my head like he did, you’re only human and-” Newt cut himself off with an embarrassed half-squeak and when Percival speared him with a questioning look, he looked remorseful and Percival caught on a moment later and chuckled lowly.

“You don’t need to dance around it, Newt. I know I’m not completely human anymore and I don’t think either of us should pretend otherwise.”

“I’ve been campaigning for Werewolf rights long enough that I should be more careful with how I speak to one by now,” he rubbed the back of his neck a little sheepishly.

“I’m still me, Newt. I won’t let what Grindelwald set on me become me,” Percival repeated the words he’d been telling himself for months on end and Newt nodded sagely.

“I know the feeling.” 

“Of course you do.”

Newt shivered then and at first Percival thought it was in response to the topic of conversation but then the Brit pulled his coat tighter about himself and the Auror was reminded that he’d dragged Newt out of bed whilst Newt was recovering and likely still weak and exhausted. He was constantly being surprised with how well Newt masked his discomfort to the point that even Percival could temporarily forget about it. He fixed Newt with a stern, gauging look and gestured toward the next doorway, “I’ve been keeping this place pretty well-stocked over the past months so if you’re hungry or you need to sleep, just say the word.”

Newt surprised him by not being his usual pointlessly stubborn self and followed the Auror into the kitchen, sitting at the huge oak table with no complaint and watching as Percival began searching through the cupboards for something suitable to make. The room was quiet for some time except for the hiss of the gas stove and the clatter of knives and pots as Percival moved about the kitchen. They ended up sitting opposite one another across the large table and eating in companionable silence, Percival’s hunk of steak considerably rarer and bloodier than the Malted bread and jam he’d set in front of Newt. He remembered Newt’s distaste for meat since the first time that Grindelwald had captured him and the unspeakable thing that had been forced upon him – he felt slightly guilty for eating such bloody meat in front of him now but knew that it would help calm his raging hunger and growling gut as it always did in the lead up to the full moon. Newt didn’t seem bothered and ate his meal with keen fingers that tore apart the malted bread, smearing it liberally with jam before licking it up. Percival had to stop himself from staring too long at the younger man’s tongue touching the tips of Newt’s fingers repeatedly, the way his lips closed around his thumb to catch errant crumbs and suckled enthusiastically upon the sticky remnants of his meal. The Auror forced himself to take deep breaths and focus on his suddenly inadequate- seeming meal. 

Tainted-green eyes flickered up to meet his across the table and Newt looked slightly bewildered before a knowing, only very slightly repentant smirk flickered across his lips and mischief caught in his eyes like a flame. Mercy Lewis help him. Because Newt certainly wasn’t trying to. “Something wrong?” Newt asked, wide-eyed and innocent in a way that Percival didn’t believe for a second – since when had he become so damn proficient at pushing Percival’s buttons so well? Had Newt changed or was it just the painfully fresh image of the gorgeous young man eager to please him whilst sticking it to Grindelwald at the same time? It awoke the wolf further in him, the possessive side that he daren’t show lest he become almost as bad as Grindelwald in his treatment of Newt. He wouldn’t and couldn’t do that to him. He deserved better.

Percival fixed his eyes on the bloody remnants of meat upon his plate and focused on mechanically chewing it to mulch. He didn’t look up as he heard Newt’s chair scrape back and light footsteps cross the kitchen to stand beside him, his hands braced themselves on Percival’s arm and shoulder and he felt like he was about to vibrate right out of his skin with the tremors that racked him, sweat beading along his skin and teeth gritting hard. Painfully aware of his arousal pressed between his clamped-shut legs, he wasn’t an animal, he could keep his word to himself. He _would_. 

“Newt,” he ground out and stood abruptly, moving around the kitchen to the sink, plate in hand and in danger of cracking under the pressure he was putting on it. 

“Yes?” Newt’s voice sounded from behind him and when Percival turned, he was thankfully at a safer distance. He saw a touch of hurt glimmering in Newt’s eyes before the Magizoologist quickly masked it and his own expression softened as he sighed.

“Newt, please, this isn’t your fault. I’m not saying no because I want to but because I have to,” he barrelled on when it looked like Newt wanted to argue, “I’m not endangering you just so that you can make a point to yourself or me or Grindelwald or whoever else by rushing this again.” He held up both of his heavily trembling hands for Newt to see. “I feel like I’m having to fight tooth and nail to keep myself in check here. Half of me wants to hunt that fucker Grindelwald down and tear out his throat and the other half is horny as hell! I can’t do either of those things right now because it wouldn’t end well for anyone so please, _please _stop pushing me like this!”

Newt came forward and softly took each of Percival’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs softly over his pulse point until Percival felt his heartrate slowing a little bit, his tremors subsiding to an almost bearable degree. The copper-haired young man smiled encouragingly at him and glanced over to his case where it lay on the table. “I can mix something up that I think’ll help with the mood swings and tremors.”

Percival sighed, stretching the aching area of his chest and shoulder where the wounds in question were aching with increasing intensity, “They managed to get silver and dittany on the wounds after it happened – the clinic staff were very helpful and I felt bad for having to obliviate them but I couldn’t risk anyone finding out about this.”

Newt nodded thoughtfully, fingers brushing softly, almost reverently over the marred skin of Percival’s forehead and down his cheek, eyes not seeing the glamoured wounds but exploring them with curious fingertips, nonetheless. “When I was dosing myself, I found that adding more Aconite seemed to help with keeping me in control of my dreams a bit better when I eventually did fall asleep. It seems that it's good for helping keep my head at least a little once it's refined, of course. I reckon it couldn’t hurt to try it with you, too.”

Percival nodded, trusting the man’s admittedly more advanced potions and herb knowledge and watching him go over to his case, likely to collect what he needed. Percival gestured toward the stairs visible through the open doorway and said, “I’m going to get some rooms ready upstairs. Do you want me to put your case up there too?”

Newt nodded distractedly as he descended into his case, sticking his head out just long enough to comment, “Yes, thank you, but please be careful with the handle, the stitching is going and no amount of sewing or magic is going to save it. I swear it’s more spells than leather at this point.”

Percival nodded and waited until Newt had descended into his case before clasping it shut and descending the stairs with it in a deliberately careful hand despite the small tremors that still ran through it.

The upstairs rooms were large, opulent and though they were free of dust due to the automatic, daily cleaning and preserving charms woven into the house and its contents, there was a scent of general neglect. He only occasionally slept there for more than a night or day at a time – usually due to exhaustion after the first few transformations if he managed to crawl his way up the stairs. He waved his wand at the bed of the master bedroom, airing out the clean sheets and making the bed with swift movements and lit the fire and candles surrounding the room to help banish the chill, dust and rather gloomy atmosphere. The house was old even by his family’s standards and it was only old woven magic that kept the place from decaying into the marshland – protected and preserved to retain its dark grandeur. The dark wood-panelled walls were a more recent addition of the last fifty years to cover the heat leaching stone and give an air of warmth, the floors were the same deep-hued wood, interspersed by rugs and runners about the large building. 

He set Newt’s case carefully down on the floor by the desk, leaving the Magizoologist plenty of space for when he clambered out again and paused, sighing low before opening the lid and following his partner down into the luggage’s depths. He got the feeling that Newt would be ignoring his own injuries as usual in his hunt to help ease Percival’s and thought he could at least offer a hand in the younger man’s efforts. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

** “I saw a fox by the rabbit hole, you saw a prince from a fairy tale. He promised that he'd watch over you, turned out to be the fox we all knew**

**Too good to be true, what chance did you stand? Take flight, turn tail, get out while you can**

**Run rabbit run, as fast as you can, don't look back...**

**He'll dance to your beat and steal your heart and smile with those teeth and tear you apart. Hounds on your heels, you don't stop for breath, you'll wear yourself out till there's nothing left.” – ‘Run Rabbit run’ – The Hoosiers**

Newt was doing entirely innocent things when Percival appeared behind him with a rather pointed cough that caused him to nearly jump out of his skin and he turned from the large black bird that had taken form in front of him. He offered a wry smile to cover his surprise and guilt but the way Percival’s arms were crossed over his chest and his dark brows were arched in a thoroughly sceptical manner told Newt that he hadn’t fooled anyone. As he glanced back at the dark phoenix, even Credence seemed to be regarding him in a dubious way, one wing outspread, and Newt felt as he were in some bizarre scene in a comedy play.

He stretched out his occupied hand to Percival, handing him the vial he had prepared in an attempt to distract him, taking him by the arm and pulling him back toward the shed, pressing him down into the stool in his workshop. The Auror went but was still regarding Newt with an impressive degree of amused- seeming scepticism. “New friend?”

“Yes, picked him up fairly recently,” he replied briskly before asking, “Would you mind showing me your wounds so I can try this on them please?” Percival nodded, watching Newt as the Magizoologist picked up the paste he had also prepared and began tugging at the buttons of Percival’s shirt, revealing marred claw lines of flesh that ran across his pectorals. Percival waved a cursory hand over his own face and neck, revealing the lightest marks gliding up his throat and deeper onto his face. The scars had healed quite well as far as Werewolf injuries went and Newt found himself nodding to himself in approval of the Caligari clinic’s treatment as he went about smoothing dittany-infused paste over Percival’s brow. He worked gingerly but Percival still winced and Newt lightened his touch to a butterfly’s ghost of caresses, stroking the treatment down Percival’s cheek and toward his lip, running a single fingertip over the edge of his cleft upper lip. His touch slowed and his brows furrowed, his other hand resting on Percival’s chest as he stroked the wounded lip in a mournful manner.

He felt glad that he’d pulled them into the shed, very aware of Credence outside but liking to think that he could trust that the young American would follow through on their conversation and refrain from further spying. Newt had indeed come down here to make up the mixtures to ease Percival’s suffering in any way he could, but also to check up on Credence and warn him not to leave the case, and of Percival’s nearby presence. He hadn’t told the boy where they were, only that they were no longer in New York and that they were being pursued. There was still enough niggling doubt and leaden feeling of violation of his privacy in him that he wasn’t entirely sure how far he could trust the boy. He wanted to think the best of him but he also wasn’t naïve enough to think that Credence’s deal with Grindelwald wasn’t stronger than any affinity the young American might have for Newt. Grindelwald was tenacious and persuasive and knew just how to get under people’s skin – evidenced by the nature of the wounds that Newt was now treating. 

“Newt.” The man in question raised his eyes from the gouge in Percival’s flesh to meet his eyes sorrowfully and Percival smiled at him gently around the Magizoologist’s brushing fingertip. “It's not your fault.”

“Maybe not, but I still want to help you.” He spoke simply, softly but determinedly, focussing his attention back to the dressing of the wounds, tracing his fingers back down the claw marks’ trajectory, the thinnest white lines on his throat before they deepened at his chest again. He scooped out more of the paste and spread it over the sealed gashes on Percival’s stout, distractingly warm and sturdy chest, feeling the slight tremor running through the muscles beneath his touch, the mostly steady thumping of a familiar heart at his fingertips. Newt flattened his palm against the centre of Percival’s chest, revelling the familiar steady feeling he’d been drawing on for so long – before he even remembered what it was or where it had come from. It seemed to calm Percival too, the pair drawing strength and solace from one another through the simple contact even as Newt’s fingers flexed over Percival’s pectorals, rubbing the last of the ointment into the ropy scars and massaging the tight seeming skin surrounding the marks.

“That feels better, thank you,” Percival said, gripping Newt’s wrist lightly and pulling it down to rest at his side and Newt shifted on his feet, eying the empty vial that he’d handed Percival earlier before letting his gaze dart back to the Auror.

“How're the tremors? Any changes?”

Percival shrugged, holding up his barely still trembling hand for Newt to see, “A bit better, yeah but it's only going to get worse the closer the moon gets to its apex.”

Newt nodded and Percival tugged at Newt’s shirt collar slightly, twitching the loosened collar aside to reveal the puckered skin of the mostly healed poker mark and a darkness descended upon the Auror’s mahogany eyes. “Now let me take care of you.”

Newt shook his head exasperatedly, “I’m fine. Mostly healed up thanks to you and Harkaway.”

Percival pierced him with a resolute look and didn’t stop in his fingers’ movements of unbuttoning Newt’s worn shirt and the Magizoologist sighed, not resisting the Auror as he switched their positions, plopping Newt down firmly onto the stool and pulling his opened shirt apart just enough to get to the wound. “I can tell it’s hurting you still, you’re barely healed and I pulled you away from much-needed bed-rest because I had to, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t take care of you now.” 

Newt succumbed to the logic simply because he knew that Percival was right, he was tired, he ached and the skin of his legs was tingling and burning slightly under the material of his trousers, his shoulder was tight and he doubted he’d done his aching body any favours by avoiding rest like this. Whatever Percival had done with his head wound seemed to have been the only complete job of healing and he honestly couldn’t blame the usually stronger wizard for having only been able to partly heal his shoulder after dealing with the trauma to his head. Especially when he was working a constant glamour over his own face and neck to hide his scars; that sort of magic was difficult to maintain. Part of the reason why no one had probably suspected Grindelwald’s deception of being the Director so long ago, no one would’ve expected someone to be able to maintain such transformative or disguising magic constantly for so long without the aid of Polyjuice. 

Percival was examining the barely organised chaos of Newt’s worktable and the shelves surrounding it, clearly looking for something with which to treat Newt and the Magizoologist smiled tiredly, pointing him toward a jar to his left and the nearly empty bottle of Dittany tucked beneath an inkwell and a bunch of papers shoved into an errant textbook. The Auror rolled his eyes at the clutter, dislodging the bottle before frowning down at the edges of the paper shoved into the book, he slipped them out carefully, eyes widening as he examined them. “Newt, what are these?”

Newt leant over to look too and squirmed a little on his seat, rubbing a hand through his fringe when he saw that the papers in questions were his sketches and drawings of his memories that had returned. Some were haphazardly done, sketched out in the haze after a returning memory and others were intricately detailed, worked upon over longer periods as he pieced together scenes from random strings of resurgence. But all of them were focused around Percival. The subject of many fevered, frenzied, confused nights and days after Berlin where he had attempted to put together what was lost, turning ink and pencil into lines and curves of images and faces. Looking at them now, with their muse looking down at them in contrast, Newt could see that he hadn’t quite done the man justice, the lines of Percival’s face sharper than the ones that had flowed from his hand but the eyes kinder, softer in a way that the shape he’d created on paper did not fully illustrate. He’d gotten the determination right though, the hard lines and shading creating a sternness to the mouth and jaw, something that bled through even in the tenderest of memories. 

“You did these when your memories started coming back?” Percival ventured, voice low and eyes taking in every aspect of the images, rifling through them and back again with a very slight smile turning the corners of his scarred lips and Newt nodded.

“Sketching helped me keep track of what was coming back, I filled in the holes in the pictures as the gaps in the memories were restored,” Newt murmured, carefully taking the vial of Dittany from Percival’s loose grip and applying a scant few drops to his shoulder with a slight hiss as the skin almost sizzled before the red puncture mark shrank just that little bit more.

Percival had paused on one illustration, the recollection of Percival sprawled out on the bedsheets, his eyes closed, arm curled around the pillow Newt had vacated when his dreams let him go back to the waking world. The shadows and light of early morning poorly replicated as it had moved across Percival’s slumbering face and bare body only just covered by the blanket draped over his hips. It had been some time after their first night together but somehow one that stuck in Newt’s head all the same with the increased clarity of the recollection. The details finer, the strokes of his pencil fonder. 

Percival looked back up at Newt, eyes soft but heated, putting the drawings back into their place, no longer tucked away but safely resting above the littered surface of Newt’s workspace. His eyes dropped to the improved condition of Newt’s shoulder and then dropped lower to where his gangly legs were propped up on the lower rung of the stool he sat upon, hesitation clear in his gaze as it flickered toward Newt’s belt and trouser line with indecision. He didn’t want to startle Newt by tackling his trousers in the same way he had his shirt, cautious of passing that particular border in the clearly still volatile, twitchy state he was in. Newt scooped up the dittany as well as a vial of the lavender-honey-comfrey mixture and pulled at Percival’s hand, determination flowing through his limbs like adrenalin but with a much less bitter aftertaste, something warmer, sweeter and decidedly more welcome.

Percival followed him back up out of the case and Newt eyed the bedroom speculatively before settling upon the edge of the large four-poster bed, the thick navy comforter soft underneath his legs as he shucked off his trousers. He hissed a little as the rough material rubbed over the still- tender skin of his legs but the discomfort was soon softened by the removal of the garment, Newt tugging off his socks and shoes to reveal the equally sore skin of his feet. Being the first part the Salemers’ fire had touched, they had been decidedly the most burned, but they had also been the area that Harkaway had focussed most of his magic and attention on consequently. 

Percival stood before him, still open-shirted but looking caught between reluctance, exasperation and something much keener burning under his tremoring skin. “Newt…why are we up here?”

Newt tilted his head, not wanting to admit that getting away from Credence had been one of the main reasons and instead made a noncommittal gesture, holding up the vial in his hand, “You said I needed rest and I figured it’d be easier to treat my legs somewhere a bit more comfortable.”

Percival nodded slowly, but hovered, looking unconvinced and Newt sighed, glancing down to the vial of treatment, adding the last drops of dittany to the mixture, swirling it a little and then holding it out toward Percival. The Auror sighed, took it and knelt at the edge of the bed before Newt, repeating his actions from earlier that very same day by taking Newt’s foot and rubbing the mixture into his skin in soothing motions. He worked his way up quickly, efficiently and Newt got the feeling that he was avoiding prolonged contact so as to not tempt himself. When he reached the lined, lightly ribbed, previously ripped flesh of Newt’s thigh where the cilice had been so brutally constricted his touch slowed, became just as mournful as Newt’s had when the younger man had been treating his lacerated lips. He looked up at Newt, both hands cupping the expanse of Newt’s pale thigh, thumbs stroking where the faintest scars from the bond now intercrossed with the newer. It was somewhat mesmerising how many wounds could be inflicted and healed yet still leave their mark, but it was still the mental ones that bothered him more. The tearing and searing of flesh only acted as a harsh reminder of the cruelty and depravity that accompanied the mutilations. Most of the bond’s marks were invisible against his natural pallor but the oldest ones still shone silvery and slightly ropy in certain lights, though thankfully not the low firelight of the bedroom they were currently in. 

“What did this?” Percival murmured, eyes roving over the thigh scars and Newt hesitated only momentarily before saying,

“A cilice. Metal one. You were right when you said that the new Salemers were going Medieval,” he attempted to inject humour into it but failed miserably as a dark look flashed across Percival’s face.

“Fucking sadists. As if you didn’t have enough scars already.” He pressed his lips to the marks briefly before looking back up to Newt with a conflicted expression upon his weary face, “We didn’t find a cilice nearby or on you, did you manage to get it off yourself?”

Newt shook his head numbly, “No, I guess it must’ve been Gellert.” The idea that the device could be in Gellert’s hands worried him more than it should have – the man was more than capable of inflicting much worse pain upon people without the use of it. He could only suppose and hope that the then irate man disposed of it somehow. Newt shuddered slightly and Percival clearly felt it as he went back to his massaging motions, moving his hands up to bracket Newt’s hips through his boxers, warm hands almost burning him through the thin fabric.

He let out a stuttering breath that sounded only just like the American’s name and Percival looked up at him, pupils blown wide and an equally irritated and eager pinch to his dark brows, “Damnit Newt, you gotta stop.”

Newt looked back at him with half-lidded eyes, smiling coyly but with that now-familiar confidence thrumming through him all the same, his own hands holding Percival’s where they were, leaning forward over the edge of the bed to kiss the lips of the hovering Auror. He coaxed Percival forward, drawing him up by leaning back, cupping his scarred face with one hand and onto the bed to straddle him. The pressure on his tender skin awakened his senses just as it had before, the fresher discomfort melting into pleasure, Percival’s clothed legs and bare chest pressing against him as the Auror leaned into the kiss, pressing Newt’s head into the navy comforter and muffling the world around him to just the points of contact. Percival broke off to gasp, eyes wide and mouth open in an angry pant, looking around the room frantically, “Newt-”

The man in question let his eyes drift shut, breathing in deeply before opening them again and smiling at the uncertain though undeniably eager looking Auror.

“Shut up,” Newt advised him firmly, a teasing smile gracing his lips as he slipped Percival’s shirt off his shoulders to tangle around his wrists and the Auror ended up ridding himself of it in simple frustration, growling low in his throat. He looked down at the smirking Magizoologist for some time before giving in and claiming Newt’s lips again in a brutal meeting of tongue and lips. His teeth were noticeably absent and Percival’s hands didn’t leave the one still clothed part of Newt, nails not digging through the material, still clearly paranoid beyond reason that he would hurt him. Newt, however, had no such qualms and let his hands wander, one sliding to fumble at Percival’s belt and trousers until the material was sliding down his legs whilst the other moved to cup Percival through his straining black silk underwear. He made no move to remove the last item of clothing, eying them amusedly, unable to stifle a giggle in their kiss until Percival snorted slightly, drawing back and asking, “What’s so funny?” 

“Just curious where these came from?” Newt teased, eyebrows raised as he looked up at his partner, “Saving them for a special occasion, or do you wear silk as an Auror’ly precaution of some sort? Just in case you get caught in your underwear?” 

Percival snorted another laugh, rolling his eyes as he pressed haphazard kisses down Newt’s collarbone, exhaling sharply when Newt’s grip tightened on him through the material in question. “Let’s just say that’s happened enough times for me to want to show some professionalism.” Newt grinned, exploring the rising damp head of Percival’s cock that was pressing impatiently into his touch and couldn’t control his mirth when the Auror kicked his shoes and trousers off with fierce impatience, hips bucking forward. “We can’t be doing this right now.”

“We can stop now if you _really_ want,” Newt grinned unrepentantly, and Percival threw all caution to the wind, growling deeply and tugging off Newt’s underwear and throwing them somewhere over his shoulder. He grabbed Newt by the underside of his thighs, hard fingers digging into his ass as he lifted him and deposited him at the head of the bed, gripping Newt’s length in his warm, calloused palm and tugging him into full hardness, the Auror’s skilful fingers dancing teasingly over the head of his cock and causing sparks to dance through him and his hips to buck up irrepressibly with each stroke. Percival made sure that Newt’s eyes were focussed upon him before descending upon his cock with his mouth, perfectly imperfect lips wrapping around him in incomparable heat and suction and he couldn’t control the moans slipping from his lips as his hands fisted in the Auror’s hair. He could now understand just how both Percival and Gellert had come undone in his mouth, the feeling was unparalleled and the deep mahogany eyes piercing his own fluttering ones only intensified the feeling. He bucked up and Percival adjusted with clearly practised ease, caressing Newt’s shaft with his warm tongue so that all Newt could do was clutch at the sheets beneath him, the Auror’s hair, anything he could reach really. Percival only pulled off him with a deliciously dirty pop at the very second Newt felt himself on the edge and groaned, trying his best to get back inside the American’s mouth even as he grinned at him in a parody of Newt’s prior mischievousness.

Percival crept back up him swiftly, capturing Newt’s lips again and Newt groaned a little deeper, own tongue coming out to catch the taste of himself on the other man’s tongue; it felt dirty but sent further shivers of arousal through him. He slipped his fingers below the edge of Percival’s silken pants, gripping him in kind and exploring the thick, flushed length once he tugged the constraining material away. His erection sprung free, hard, leaking and oh so tempting but Percival once again denied him his temptation and release and he gripped Newt’s wrists, tugging them up to meet the wooden slats of the headboard and murmuring, “Hold.”

The word was whispered so darkly and firmly into his ear that Newt could do nothing but do as he was told, shocked into submission, fingers gripping tight onto the wood until they were numb, his chest heaving and relishing in the pleased warmth shining in Percival’s deep eyes. Percival’s lips took their time in tracing their way down from his lips to his chest, tongue circling ropy, raised scars before finding his nipple and latching on, suckling enthusiastically and causing Newt’s length to leak, precome trickling down teasingly before pooling on his stomach. The Auror’s hands were split between pinning Newt’s injured shoulder to the bed and teasing the trail of light hair leading down to his cock as his mouth was elsewhere occupied. Percival’s thumb pressed hard into the wound, causing more pain to flash through him and Newt gasped for an entirely different reason, hands coming down to scramble at Percival’s shoulders, pushing and panicking slightly when his teeth clamped down on the nipple they were currently attacking.

“Percy!” he gasped, pulling harder at Percival’s shoulder and feeling confusion run through him as Percival raised his head, not releasing the nipple between his teeth and pulling it to an agonising degree. He let out a shrill cry and shoved as hard as he could at the other man when he saw a deranged sort of glee shining in Percival’s previously- warm, brown eyes. The Auror relented, releasing his teeth’s grip but causing more pain to flood the younger man as blood rushed back into the area that had previously been deprived due to the pressure exerted. Percival’s mouth was red, lips tinged around the lacerated lips as he grinned up at Newt, teeth tinted too with the gore drawn from Newt’s flesh, his fingers digging deeper into the tender scar tissue at his shoulder, nails ripping open the healed skin. Newt resorted to magic then, confused, terrified and aroused in equal amounts, shoving the man straddling him backwards but was shocked and dismayed when Percival took him with him, both men flying from the bed and colliding with the wall. Percival turned him as they fell, so Newt was still beneath him, pinned against the wall as the Auror’s hand found his throat, finding a grip and cinching it tight. White lights flashed behind Newt’s eyes, bright and harsh, burning almost as much as the too rough touches of the man he trusted more than anyone.

“Perc-…achk!” he choked further, forcing words out all the same, eyes wide and pleading “Prc-vl…pl...s.” The world before him was shimmering now, the Auror’s gleeful face weaving in and out of focus as Newt’s perception dwindled to focus upon the lack of air alone. Nothing else mattered. Not even the betrayal. Not even the fear. Just the blankness threatening to overwhelm everything…even the last remnants of pleasure…he died knowing only the cruel grip on his throat and the red slash of a scarred mouth grinning down at him from beneath two points of mahogany colour.

….

Newt jerked upright, panting hard, relishing in the sheer sensation of being able to breathe again, heaving in great big deep lungfuls of slightly stale air. His eyes didn’t comprehend the room before him or the soft sheets beneath him for a long time; it took the warm arms encircling his waist from behind, the soft, dented lips pressing into his shoulder and the awfully familiar voice taunting and tempting him from the horror of the recollections.

“Newt? Sweetheart, what is it? Bad dream, love?”

Newt jerked in the hold, slipping forward, looking down at himself and seeing nothing amiss, no bruising or blood and a pair of his soft pyjama bottoms encompassing his sore legs, bare feet meeting the wood floor as he swiftly turned to face the man still tucked halfway into the covers. Percival was staring at him in concern, the coverlets pooled around his hips and a hand outstretched toward Newt on the bedcovers, not raised but facing up, ready to draw him back to bed. Newt’s head swirled and he swallowed spasmodically several times before speaking.

“What happened? What time is it? Why did you-” he cut himself off with a gasp, dragging in a breath more slowly as he rid himself of the last vestiges of blind panic by looking into the familiar, kind, concerned eyes fixed on him.

“Newt, love, you were just dreaming, you were thrashing about so much I thought it’d be better to wake you.”

“What happened since we got here, Percival?” Newt’s tone was so desperate and quiet that Percival seemed to relent in his obvious compulsion to ask questions and instead answering him with concerned firmness.

“We accidentally attacked my mother. I made you dinner. You did your damn best to seduce me into bed. You went into your case; we treated each other’s wounds and you fell asleep on this bed.”

“Nothing else?” Newt ventured, eyes skating panicked around the room and Percival shook his head resolutely.

“What did you dream, come back here and tell me?” He coaxed, holding out a hand to Newt and the Magizoologist hesitated for some time before taking it, curling himself tightly against Percival’s warm, scarred side and pressing his face into the older man’s shoulder.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet, timid and tired, “We were here, I…I got you into bed and then you…you started hurting me. You…you killed me,” he whispered, and Percival hushed him quietly when the tremors intensified through Newt’s thin frame, pressing himself deeper into Percival’s stouter body. The American pressed a soft kiss to Newt’s forehead, pulling his trembling, clenched hand up to kiss that too, a firm brush of lips over his knuckles. Newt blinked very slowly at the action, turning his head up to stare at Percival’s face, eyes scanning every inch but finding nothing amiss. It wasn’t until he pressed his nose into the hollow of Percival’s throat that his suspicions were confirmed and he froze. The smell wasn’t right.

Newt pushed himself away from the other man violently, rolling off the bed and kicking out harshly, scrambling for his wand where he remembered leaving it on the bedside table but finding nothing but a polished, smooth wood surface beneath his desperate fingertips. He panted as he stumbled back on aching legs, putting the bedpost between him and the figure glimpsed beyond it. He looked slightly winded by the sharp contact of Newt’s bare feet with his midriff but eyed Newt gaugingly all the same before trying, “Newt, calm down, it’s all right, just-”

But Newt was shaking his head fiercely, swiping a hand over his mouth swiftly, wiping the lingering taste of lightning and Juniper from his stinging lips and glaring pointedly at the other man, “No, don’t bother.”

Percival’s face transformed into an infallible mask for moments more in the dying firelight before breaking into a grudgingly pleased grin, “It’s getting harder and harder to use this trick on either of you.” He tilted his head as he stood, clad only in black silk boxers as he stepped around the bed, smiling patiently at Newt as the visage dropped like a slick from him. The skin, muscles and features shifted and cracked, melting and remoulding themselves into the countenance beneath. Mismatched eyes retained one of Percival’s deep mahogany whilst mirroring Gellert’s own silver Seer’s eyes on the usual side, his lips curved and cruel.

“Where the hell is Percival?” Newt growled, his half-naked, trembling form vibrating with anger and adrenalin, disgust curling his lip and hardening his sweat-slicked posture.

“That doesn’t really matter, sweetness. What matters is that we are here, and you are going to learn just how foolish it is to make a stand against me,” his leer widened, showing glimmers of white teeth that shone pearlescent in contrast to the darkness of his stolen eye. “You didn’t seem all too upset with me earlier, did you? What’s wrong now, Liebling? Not rough enough for you?” He stepped closer and Newt backed himself around the bed toward the door which clicked tellingly behind him as soon as he neared it.

The young Magizoologist swallowed, fists curling and looking desperately to the spot where his case had been and feeling deeper anxiety claw at his insides and heart to see it gone. His throat was closing up in panic, vision swimming and heart hammering hard against his ribcage.

Gellert’s lips curled, “Or was it the lack of wet dog smell that ruined it for you?”

“_What. Did. You. Do. To. Percival?_” Newt gritted each word out separately, fists clenching white-knuckled at his sides as Gellert backed him up into the door behind him, not touching but pinning him in every other way he could, lips inches from Newt’s throat as the copper-haired young man leant as far away from the contact as he could. 

“It isn’t him you should be worried about, Liebling,” he said softly, lips barely grazing the flesh of Newt’s throat. “You haven’t been behaving very well as of late, now what should be done about that?”

Newt’s trembling intensified as he brought his hands up, not to shove the older man away but instead to flip them, surprising Gellert enough to succeed and it was Newt’s turn to hiss right in the other man’s face, eyes like cut emeralds and just as sharp, “_Answer me_.”

Grindelwald chuckled, low and surprised in his throat, his teeth practically bared in his grin. “I’ll give you back your precious little pup just as long as you’re a good boy for as long as I tell you to be.” His expression was devious as he added in a deliberately light manner, “The full moon will reach its summit in just a few hours now. You had a nice long sleep, didn’t you, mein haustier? Imagine the discomfort that could be endured should the transformation process of one bound to the moon be slowed down indefinitely?” His voice dropped deep at the dawning horror on Newt’s face. “Hours and hours, _days_ of his body tearing itself apart, caught between cognizance and his bestial form? Can you imagine the indescribable agony poor Percy would endure? What I could make him do just for a promise to end it?” 

Newt’s trembling intensified, rage flowing through him, but also fear. He didn’t know what to do. His instincts told him to run. His anger to fight. His worry for Percival and his creatures to submit. Gellert evidently felt his indecision, sensing the loosening grip as the Magizoologist dithered. He lifted a hand, straight out into the air and twisted the hand around in a gesture as if turning an invisible doorknob. Newt was left baffled for barely a second before a loud muffled scream sounded from somewhere nearby. It was long, drawn-out and stifled, like the emitter was gagged, the expression of agony deep and muffled but unmistakable, nonetheless. The more Grindelwald turned his hand, the louder the sounds got and Newt grabbed at the dark wizard’s arm, wresting it down to his side and calling out desperately, “Stop it!”

Gellert pulled himself from the grip with ease and smiled accommodatingly at Newt’s distraught face, tears threatening the back of his eyes. “I’ll make it stop as long as you’re a good boy and learn your lesson as it is taught.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve learnt your bloody lesson, just let him go!” Newt nodded, resolve cracking slightly, desperate to alleviate the agony he’d heard in Percival’s disembodied voice, terrified at what the gesture of Grindelwald’s magic could be doing to him. He met the other’s eyes – one stolen but both painfully familiar. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, “Please.”

“A good start perhaps, Liebling, but nowhere near learnt,” Gellert cajoled him and Newt’s grip tightened.

“You utter bastard, you bloody-” he was cut off as Grindelwald took advantage of his fury and pushed him backwards with one dramatic shove, more irritating than effective and Grindelwald only intensified that emotion by grinning widely at him, lips stretched and eyes all wrong.

“Curse all you want, it will help nothing. You have a very simple decision to make – do as you are told and dear Percy won’t be harmed. Disobey or try anything that I don’t like and he dies a very slow and agonizing death,” his lips curled into a snarl, all teeth and malice. “You forced me to this. The both of you. With your incessant, foolish interferences, your petty resistance.” His eyes turned hard then, almost ice-cold if it weren’t for the tangible vein of something easily mistaken for fear running through them. Grindelwald looked as intimidating as he ever did – even mostly naked and wearing the eye of the man Newt loved like some sort of sick reminder of what he was considering bargaining for.

“I thought you’d gotten past this, Gellert,” Newt hazarded, attempting to appeal to the vague sense of sanity he rarely saw in the other man – something like the tenderness he’d experienced when Gellert had given him back his memories in Berlin. The semblance of true compassion and not the deluded, sadistic obsession that that compassion often devolved into. “I thought that you knew better than doing things like this to convince me. There’s no chance of me growing to accept you over time if you carry on hurting the people I love to get me into bed with you.” He paused, voice soft and cajoling as he dared mention the name that had shown the humanity bleeding through before. “I thought you’d learnt your mistake with Albus? Did he not help you see that this isn’t the way forward?” Tears wetted the hard-cut gem of his eyes. “You’ve got to stop.”

Grindelwald’s snarl twisted tighter, eyes flashing with that same scared vein in a barely tangible half-second, but it wasn’t enough to give Newt any hope as the man stepped forward, gripping Newt tightly by the hair and fisting his head back to collide with the bedpost with a harsh thud Newt gasped a whiteness threatened his vision for the second time in that room, eyes blinking momentarily to regain focus. Gellert hissed his response right into Newt’s ear, breath hot and slightly sour: “But I’ve Seen it, sweetness – there _is_ no time! There is no future in which I remain free, whole or able to achieve all that I desire! My plans, my designs – all ruined since the very moment you came into it all. I thought it would change, I thought that I could change it – achieve my ambitions with you at my side.” True remorse glimmered then, the grip twining tighter, more possessively, thumb brushing Newt’s sweat-glistened forehead and lips hovering inches in front of Newt’s stunned, terrified, furious face. “But it won’t happen. So instead, I’m going to take as much as I can, bind us so completely that you won’t ever escape it. None of us will.” 

Panic closed up Newt’s throat so fast he couldn’t help the shockwave of magic he sent out, blasting Gellert back from him and not even registering the strands of hair that left his burning scalp with the separation. His arms were open-palmed, shaking violently at his sides as he stared, cracked-eyed at where Gellert had collided with the bedside table, broken glass from a cup and hot wax from the fallen candle dripping down onto Grindelwald’s sprawled form. The man was laughing though. Deep-bodied, hysterical laughter that confused Newt further until he heard the corresponding yells of pain coming from a much more beloved voice as Gellert stuck his hand spitefully into the candle’s flame. The fire did not burn Gellert’s pale flesh but the screams continued, madness and spite shining hot and resolute in the mahogany-silver eyes.

Newt comprehended the connection then – the magic that Grindelwald had employed so that he could get his way. Grindelwald was now a human voodoo doll, every harm and sensation that was inflicted upon him hurting Percival instead. The screams, the stolen eye, the lack of burns on Gellert but the stench of scorched flesh filling the room all the same. He jerked forward in an instinctual movement, skidding to his knees by Grindelwald and grabbing his wrist, pulling him hastily out of harm’s way. _Percival’s harm_. He knelt, panting and gripping tight onto Gellert for a long time, eyes unfocused as he understood his situation.

He couldn’t fight Grindelwald. Running likely wasn’t an option either even if he was willing to abandon Percival – which he wasn’t – he’d had enough experience of Grindelwald’s anti-apparation wards to not want to meet them by force again. Appealing to Gellert’s better nature seemed a lost cause too. He didn’t actually know where Percival was, only that he was being hurt and that he could only stop it by obeying. His case, his creatures, they were another matter to consider – again, nowhere in sight and likely just as much hostage as the Auror was. 

Newt felt bile threatening the back of his throat and had to swallow convulsively to keep himself in check before he let his eyes drift, tear-stained and furious, to meet expectant mahogany-silver.

“What do you want from me?”

Gellert’s answering smile was like the sun shining through the midst of a hurricane – all kinds of wrong yet easily interpreted as a flash of promise.

“Everything.”

**A/N - despite my best efforts, this fic will be closer to 17 chapters rather than a nice round 15...sorry? Loose ends and all folks. Stupid, rabid plot bunnies of doom...curse them all to a different hell than the one I'm definitely going to. **


	14. Affecting scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEVERE TRIGGER WARNINGS BE HERE

**“And I will hold you hostage, make you part of my conspiracy, you will be witness to carnage you know there's no you without me. **

**I'm gonna shake you 'til it wakes you, yeah, from your waking dream, show you affecting scenes…I will exploit you.**

**Then conscript you for my narrative schemes, show you distressing scenes.**

**I'm gonna drag you from your bed onto your floor by any means necessary…I'm gonna dig up what you buried, yeah, by any means necessary**

**There you go again finding brilliant ways to make things harder, are we smarter alone or in this endless Stockholm syndrome? Here's what is known, we're gonna break this two-way mirror. **

**You know there's no you without me.” – ‘Bellevue Bridge Club’ – Andrew Bird **

He couldn’t look away.

Couldn’t ignore it.

He was trapped.

Agonized in every way he could be and then some more.

“Gellert, please, you don’t have to do this,” Newt’s sweet voice was low, pleading, desperate.

“No, I don’t _have_ to do anything, dearest, but I sure as hell _want_ to,” came the smirking reply. 

Grindelwald’s smile was tracing along the very most edges of sympathetic but the cruelty of the situation overrode it almost entirely. Even Percival could admit that what was leaking in waves from Grindelwald, in undulating, horrific waves of intent, was tinted heavily with desperation – and not just the sexual kind. It was something similar to what Percival himself was experiencing in his ensnared, agonised state in that it was born of fear that was too rooted in reality to control. Grindelwald, however, seemed a man on the brink, the decaying remnants of anything he had left close to sanity stripped away by whatever vision he had that told him that he had to do this.

Percival couldn’t care.

Didn’t give a single flying fuck what existential crisis the man currently pinning his partner down to the bed he had so recently occupied was going through. All he cared about was the terror and submission clear in Newt’s wide eyes, his own inability to move a single muscle to help and the progression of the lust and depravity in Grindelwald’s eyes. The emotion shining horribly in his stolen eye – both to join them and to taunt Newt further. As that sadistic fucker had taken great pleasure in telling Percival as Newt was passed out, bruised and abused in his possessive arms not feet away from where Percival had been forced to kneel, pinned magically to the spot, and made invisible to Newt alone. 

Grindelwald could see him of course, ignored him for the most part but shot self-satisfied smirks toward the trapped Auror whenever he deemed it safe to do so without alerting Newt to his location.

It was a cruel game.

Percival caught in the midst, in the very beginnings of his transformation, limbs painfully elongated and near dislocation, the pain and fire thrumming through him constantly – a pain that was meant to last mere minutes – not hours. And he had been here for hours, forced to watch what he feared was just the start of what Grindelwald had planned, having knocked Percival out of awareness for long enough for him to be astounded to find himself no longer astride Newt and instead pinned in the corner of the bedroom by the desk, knelt forward in submission and unable to twitch a muscle. He didn’t know what Grindelwald had done and couldn’t spare the time to think as he witnessed the bastard hurt Newt whilst using his form. It was something dredged up from the depths of Percival’s most heated, horrendous nightmares, based in enough truth to leave him sweating and shuddering in revulsion when the nightmares were remnants of a twisted past. What it was doing to him now…it was carnage.

The only sounds he could seem to make were the animalistic grunts and screams of when Grindelwald decided that Newt wasn’t being accommodating enough to his lecherous advances and he would allow a little of the spell to slip Percival further along his transformation and his bones would twist and crack, his skin split that little bit further and the itching, burning would resurge anew along his heightened human senses. The agony, unfortunately, was not an adequate distraction from watching Grindelwald.

The first thing he’d been aware of was after being forcibly separated from Newt was his partner’s desperate voice crying out his name, he had jerked as he’d come to, hearing the fear and confusion and assuming that Newt was calling to him for help. He’d been horrified to open his eyes and realise that Newt was begging for him to stop, seeing his doppelgänger straddling Newt, nails digging into barely healed wounds and Newt’s hands scrabbling at the other’s shoulders for release from the grip the imposter’s teeth had on his sensitive flesh. He jerked all the more, feeling the utter paralysis that engulfed him and panicking hard, he tried to call out in kind, to warn Newt, to tell him that the man hurting him _wasn’t him_. But he hadn’t been able to make a sound. It was like the tunnels all over again: trapped, pinned, silent and scared. Only this time, instead of endless darkness and silence to accompany him, he was forced to witness Newt’s desperate, instinctive magic throwing his assailant away and the ensuing strangulation. His despairing pleas for mercy from Percival.

Percival had felt the tears sliding hot and fast down his cheeks, furious, terrified and frantic – hoping against everything that he hadn’t just witnessed Newt’s death. With his hands and face…that Newt had truly believed the lie. The Auror had been partially relieved when his twisted-mirror self had released Newt once he had stopped moving, the Magizoologist’s pale hands dropping weakly off of the imposter’s shoulders where he’d been trying to shove him away. It had been then, when the imposter stood tall, turned to Percival with an armful of lifeless Magizoologist that Percival had truly registered the familiar gleam in his eyes and the shit-eating grin defiling his own face in front of him. 

Grindelwald had cradled Newt close, both men bare, the exposure exacerbating Newt’s look of vulnerability without diminishing Grindelwald’s air of superiority at all – the flesh he bared he was not his own and he likely wouldn’t have the humility to care even if it was. He wore it as a costume, a role to play and usurp, to defile the other players and he did so well – no remorse in the eyes that pierced Percival.

It was only when they dropped back to Newt as he set the younger man back down on the bed that any weakness shone through the most minuscule of cracks in the man’s demeanour. Grindelwald settled Newt onto the pillows softly, brushing his sweat-stuck hair away from his eyes, stroking a hand through the coppery locks with a clear possessiveness that had a low growl managing to escape Percival’s throat. The dark wizard had looked up at him, amusement tracing his expression but also that same sly fondness, glancing back down to Newt’s pale, drawn face as he spoke in a slow, low voice – in Percival’s voice.

“This is just as much a lesson for you as it is for him. I hope that you learn it well, dear director,” his fingers continued to trace Newt’s face, pushing back his messy hair to reveal the palest, faintest marks from the blood-bond that had once burned their way into Newt’s skin, “You aren’t a real part of this story.”

At Percival’s evident confusion he had continued, “You’re a footnote, Percy. In a tale of heroes and villains, old friends and lovers – of characters striving for freedom and true power – you don’t matter.” His smile was almost pitying as his fingers traced down Newt’s throat now, “You’re a snag in the tapestry, a knot in the string. It’s only Newt’s esteem that involves you in the story at all. Were you just what I originally intended you to be – a face and a tool – you would have been discarded from this narrative long ago,” the remark was all the more irritating for Percival as Grindelwald had flicked at the face in question, the one he donned, just to emphasize his point and Percival had flinched very slightly as the same sensation ran across his own cheek. His shock had clearly shown as Grindelwald had laughed softly, letting his hands wander back to Newt as he explained, “I took the liberty of linking us. Anything our little Newt tries on me will only end up hurting you. Not magic I imagine you’re familiar with, I’m sure, but effective for my purposes.”

He paused, smiling down at the freckles he was tracing along the edge of Newt’s nose, the young man breathing somewhat heavily in his unconsciousness, nostrils flaring and body still shining in a light coating of perspiration. Percival wished he could take a chunk out of those hands, regardless of the pain it might inflict upon him, but neither his body nor his magic were responding to his demands. The tremors of his oncoming change were intensifying, and he could feel it was significantly closer than the last time he’d been aware. Grindelwald was characteristically sharp: “You might’ve noticed that I’ve taken control of your transformation. A little spell I worked to slow everything down for you to _properly_ experience it,” his lips were pulled into a near snarl then, “Well that, and to help you keep track of what my precious Newt and I will be getting up to.” 

The growl came out louder this time, teeth clenched behind sealed lips as he glared at Grindelwald with all his might. The bastard regarded him for a few more amused moments before waving his hand at Percival and the Auror gasped as he felt his jaw release, lips able to move and he swallowed feeling back into his mouth and throat before speaking; this time his growling voice was considerably more articulate. He swallowed back, too, his temptation to just curse the fucker with every word he knew or to threaten him with violence that he was incapable of enacting right now. Instead, he kept his growling voice low and even, earnest as he shelved his rage momentarily to make a sincere plea, a case for sanity: “He won’t forgive you for this. Whatever you take now or do to either of us – you’ll lose him. Now I couldn’t care less if Newt rejects you again and diminishes whatever sense of entitlement or claim you have over him but if you truly care for him, you’ll stop this now.” 

He stared, barely blinking and earnest at Grindelwald’s inscrutable expression pasted upon his own face, “You say that you love him too. If I were so inclined as to believe that for even a moment, it would be because you didn’t hurt him or anyone else anymore and I’m sure that Newt would tell you the same.” His eyes burned with the intensity of his plea and with repressed tears, “You think that because he…because he felt pleasure from what you-…you did to him that he wanted it. But if you’ve been in his head you _must_ know it's not true. Even someone like you should be able to recognise the difference between consent and rape. Because that’s what you’ve been doing to him. Over and over.”

His voice dropped lower and hoarser than ever before as he pleaded with his enemy – the man he hated above all else - for the sanctity and salvation of his love, “Please…don’t do it to him again. There will be a point when he won’t come back from it. We both know it. Don’t let this be what destroys-” he nearly choked on the last words but forced them out anyway “…the man we both love.” 

Grindelwald looked him over for some time, eyes roving over every aspect of his pleading, frozen form and Percival felt the smallest glimmer of hope as the man’s imitation of his own face softened very slightly. He knew that arguing with Grindelwald or simply becoming aggressive would not affect him, other than to make things worse for both himself and Newt, but the emotion that the dark wizard was letting leak through was enough to give him a few seconds of optimism. Of course, Grindelwald’s next words dashed that hope right into the ground.

“You don’t give him enough credit, you know,” he said softly, eyes moving back to focus upon Newt’s face and remaining there as he continued, "He’s stronger than you could understand. As you say yourself, I have been inside him – in more ways than you ever will - and I understand him better than you could hope to. I know his limits; I can better predict what will break him irreparably and this will _not_.” His lip curled, “You, however…” he shrugged indifferently. 

His voice dropped into its own timber, Grindelwald’s illusion dropping from his disguised voice and though his words continued to shock and horrify Percival, it was better to hear them from their proper source. Not that dreadful mimicry. “You are not unique, Graves, you are nothing that cannot be moved past or escaped should Newt endeavour to do so in an effort to preserve himself. He chooses not to now, but given no choice in your extraction from his life, he would grow to accept your absence and become all the stronger for it,” the eyes that Grindelwald wore didn’t leave Newt as he tucked the covers around Newt’s shivering form, pulling them up to his chest and enfolding Newt in his arms, sitting beside him with the Magizoologist’s curly head resting upon his imitation of Percival’s scarred chest. Only then did he look over to Percival, eyes deep, dark and unfathomable as the surrounding marshland at night, “He and I have been joined before and I will do it again. I accept my fate. I shall not achieve my goals and any attempts to rectify this only result in…worse fates. I have chosen my path and as much as I loathe to admit it, both of you are a part of it,” his eyes darkened and Percival felt as though he were being submerged, dragged into the rotting damp of the bog by the cold, dead, beckoning force that dwelt in it. “However, there is no part of my visions that includes you being whole or sane in order for my intentions to be fulfilled, so I think it would be best if you did not antagonise me further by pretending to know better than I or by interfering in things that you will never fully grasp.” 

“Whatever damn visions you’ve had, you should know that they don’t always come true – you’ve said so yourself! Why do you find this one is so inescapable, that you risk doing irrevocable damage to-” Grindelwald’s raised hand stopped him, not by Percival’s will but by the replacement of the dark wizard’s magic upon him, jaw and lips clamping shut tight.

“What did I just say, Percy?” the derisive tone was back, the veil of taunting sadism in place, like an armour around the clearly fracturing state of the diseased mess that he called a mind. “Now, you’ll just have to stay quiet, I think dear Newt needs his rest and I shan’t have you disturbing it until he’s ready. I shall not rush this any more than my visions dictate so you should just get used to submission, it does suit the both of you so well, after all,” the smirk was nauseating and Percival could do nothing but growl like a caged beast – the kind that Newt made a mission of rescuing, though there was little to no chance of that happening now. 

The next few hours were agony. Even before his transformation began, it was indescribably painful to watch Grindelwald paw over Newt’s lifeless, bruised form, wrapped up in Grindelwald’s ersatz version of his arms, the younger man nuzzling unconsciously into the warmth he provided with soft, distressed noises that caused a sick, pleased smile to twist Grindelwald’s lips. Percival had been itching to do so many things. Getting Grindelwald off Newt being the first and foremost but also to tear the bastard’s throat out. To check on Newt to make sure that Grindelwald’s strangulation and assault of him had not done irreversible damage. To get them both out of the place he was now beginning to believe was truly cursed. And then, as his lupine nature grew stronger, the desire to taste the blood and flesh of his enemy, to not only rip his throat out but to make it slow, make it _hurt_. To make him pay for hurting and attempting to claim his wolf self’s perceived mate. The perception of everything before him wavering in and out of his human sanity but the intent remaining very much the same in terms of Grindelwald’s doom. 

The dark wizard took obvious delight in stroking, fondling and kissing various parts of Newt, not in a distinctly sexual manner, but overwhelmingly possessive and taunting all the same. When Newt finally awoke, hours later and on the cusp of Percival’s true transformation, when his limbs had cracked and attempted to reform themselves, Grindelwald had slowed his progress again and he was once again stuck on the precipice of radiating, immense agony. He felt pride and a little satisfaction rise in him when Newt recognised and rejected Grindelwald reasonably quickly – infinitely faster than Percival’s friends and colleagues ever had – but it was even more quickly eclipsed at the events that followed. Percival’s agony was only deepened by the effect it had upon Newt, enticing and ensuring his cooperation and submission to Grindelwald’s sadistic whims. It was beyond awful to be used as leverage to enable this…this depravity and be unable to do anything but ensure the events unfolding before him through his uncontrollable sounds of agony. 

Grindelwald’s final ultimatum to Newt was a twist of the flaming knife in his gut, the one that was carving and serrating him apart with every second that passed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**“And things that are pretty are always kept behind glass and someone like me, someone like me can't make it last. **

**…I like you damaged, but I need something left, something for me, something for me to wreck, something for me to wreck.**

**You are my sickness, we all know the way it ends…**

**My seed would have made new fruit and you could have been a tree, I could have cut you down or just let you be…Damaged, I like you damaged.” – ‘Threats of Romance’ – Marilyn Manson **

**"You were alone before we met, no more forlorn than one could get,  
How could we know we had found treasure? How sinister and how correct.  
  
And it was a leap of faith I could not take, a promise that I could not make.  
  
I tore the muscle from your chest and used it to stub out cigarettes, I listened to your screams of pleasure, now watch the bedsheets turn blood red.  
My ashtray heart.** **(Mi Cenicero, mi Cenicero)"  
'Ashtray heart' – Placebo**

Newt awoke blearily, startled at having been unaware for even a moment after Gellert spoke his final, damning wish. Sore behind the eyes and another ache residing in his limbs that felt quite disconnected from the rest of him. His head was heavy and his mouth was hanging open as his numb lips felt huge and useless, his neck unable to support his leaden cranium and so he simply kept it lying indolent against his chest. He let his eyes flicker open and they widened in shock as he took in his surroundings, the dreadfully familiar circumstances and it was only the familiar, furious face of Percival across the table from him that told him he hadn’t simply regressed into another one of his nightmares. He and Gellert sat at a dining table in a candle-lit, elegant, Gothically-decorated hall, a veritable feast sat before them, and his limbs were trapped in place beyond his awareness or control. 

His heavy lips moved without his permission, too, as he slurred out, “Gellert?”

Newt saw Percival’s brows furrow, angry and dark above a gagged mouth, an awfully familiar metal muzzle trapping his face and no place setting before him – apparently, the Auror was to have no part of whatever demented version of hospitality Gellert might purport to have. Newt pulled against his physical bonds in an instinctual, testing manner, not really hoping for freedom that he knew wasn’t probable but making a minor show of defiance all the same. It felt important somehow.

The man he called to appeared by Newt’s side, pulling back his fringe invasively to check upon his blown-wide pupils and tapping his cheek until Newt jerked slight, pulling himself back into focus and straightening as much as he was able in equally recognizable metal bands encasing him. “W-what? Why-”

“No reason we can’t all be civilised in this,” came the flippant, customarily self-satisfied reply as Gellert released him and stepped around so that Newt could see him properly, witnessing the fine white suit and contrasting black shirt that the man was wearing on his true form – discounting the still-stolen eye.

Newt made a pointed look down at his own form at a distinctly disgruntled, disbelieving noise from Percival’s gagged mouth, taking in the fine crafting of buttery golden-yellow silk that ensconced his form. He could feel the silken material against warm, bare skin but also felt an odd, unfamiliar tightness underneath the skirt of the dress that gave him a sneaking suspicion that the dress wasn’t the only garment he’d been dressed in without his knowledge. The dark wizard evidently seemed to admire Newt in such dress – quite literally – and had dressed him accordingly to enhance his pallor and figure in his unconsciousness. Newt was past the point of violation, however, and merely looked up levelly, challengely at Gellert, not really intending to fight him but not being entirely submissive about it either. He didn’t have to feign enthusiasm to play Gellert’s game…unless Grindelwald threatened him to it. He knew what was at stake and he would fight to protect it if he could. Percival’s life and suffering were not worth his own pointless, stubborn pride or resistance. Gellert had already made that abundantly clear. 

Gellert smiled encouragingly as he carved into a decent sized joint of meat placed in the centre of the ornate, oak table: Newt’s stomach lurching along with the meat as it was manipulated by the knife that sliced it. “I did promise you suitable evening-wear for our rendezvous did I not?” he glanced tauntingly across the room at the other end of the table, “Quite a fetching look for our dear Newt, don’t you think, Percy?” 

Percival made a sound that was nowhere human and it was then that Newt took in the agony radiating off his partner in waves and the elongated, dislocated look of his body, even restrained as they were. The huge dilated pupils and the sheer amount of sweat coating Percival’s skin and shining in rivulets on his metal bindings. That provoked a response from him, the words torn from his lips before he could even consider the response that they would most likely draw him their intended recipient, “Gellert, please, his transformation! He could die from this, from permanent bone and muscle damage as well as the mental trauma! You can’t do this-”

He was cut off by a derisive bark of laughter, “But of course I can, Liebling,” cool, smooth hands wrapped around his shoulders from behind, attempting to work the tension from his joints through the warm, silver-embroidered silk. “You are both mine to do with as I please and it pleases me to keep the pup in his place and you in yours,” he let out a breathy, satisfied sigh against Newt’s exposed neck that sent shivers up the Magizoologist’s spine “Right here, left for me as an offering,” a kiss was pressed to the back of Newt’s collarbone, “And such a pretty one at that.”

He released Newt with one final squeeze of his shoulders and stepped smartly back around the table to continue serving whatever depraved idea of a meal he’d concocted this time around. Newt found his eyes tracing Percival again just to make sure that no part of him was missing that might have provided the roast joint before them and was only partially relieved to see no obvious carnage beyond that of the decelerated transformation. 

Percival let out another muted growl, eyes wide and body vibrating with visible tension. Gellert looked over to him amusedly and then back down to his work of plating up food, “I’d offer you some, Percy, but I fear that what I have prepared wouldn’t be quite rare enough to your tastes,” he arched a mocking eyebrow at the American, “Or perhaps you’d prefer I simply threw a stick for you?”

Newt’s voice was ice as he spoke: “If you’re really offering something to appeal to his tastes, Gellert, I might suggest you offer up a limb that you aren’t particularly attached to.” His eyes were hard as he stated the dark wizard down, feeling rage on the behalf of his partner sizzling in his gut as he finished, “or rather one that would no longer be attached to you.”

Gellert eyed him sceptically for a tense moment before chuckling, reaching over and ruffling Newt’s hair fondly. Newt jerked his head away from the touch and continued to glower sullenly, challenging him in a silent manner that hopefully wouldn’t get both partners killed. Newt managed to catch Percival’s eye and was relieved to see the gratitude there, the anger, the minor amusement but also the warning. The Auror approved of his resistance...just as long as it didn’t get both of them killed, or worse.

Newt found himself rotating his wrists and ankles in the metal cuffs that held him, the runes etched into each restraint easily identifiable as magic-blocking ones though he got the distinct feeling that no amount of desperation was going to break through _these_ shackles. Unlike the ones used by the Salemers, they were complete and looked strong, the enchantments undamaged by the Muggles’ lack of magical expertise. Gellert knew this sort of thing well enough that Newt doubted he was getting free any time soon unless it was allowed.

Grindelwald evidently saw the subject of his contemplation and as he placed a plate in front of Newt, he reached out to lightly caress the wrist trapped nearest him, the touch sending tingles both through Newt’s skin and the restraint itself. As if the metal knew the touch of its maker. It was an unsettling thought. Gellert smiled down at him patiently, fingertips tracing over his knuckles until Newt’s hand clenched into a fist and he sighed quietly, “I do apologise for this but, as I cannot perform any magic on you directly, I had to make do with simply spelling your restraints to keep you in check. As much as I believe you will stay mostly compliant for the sake of our Dear Director,” a jerk of his head in Percival’s direction, “I thought that finer care was needed to...direct you along the right path of compliance.”

“You never seemed to be bothered about trussing me up before, why start apologising now?” Newt muttered, eyes fixed on a crystal goblet on the table in front of him, focusing on the filigree rather than Grindelwald’s intense gaze. He'd had enough doses of that for a lifetime after all. The smell of the food was turning his stomach, making him start to feel distinctly sick, blinking slowly but forcibly to try to quell the surge of memories that accompanied this particular set of circumstances. So similar and yet wildly worse all the same.

“You make a valid point, Liebling. I can’t help but feel that my apologies – sincere or otherwise - would be rendered redundant by the end of tonight so I should perhaps use them sparingly.”

“Very pragmatic of you,” Newt muttered acerbically, temper worn thin by circumstance and the sickness curling in his abdomen.

Gellert turned his head to smile at Newt as he straightened beside him, surprising him by waving a hand at one of the wrist restraints and placing a fork in it, Newt’s chair having been tucked far enough in that he could reach the food for himself. He kept a grip on the cutlery for a few seconds, not at all intending to eat with it but momentarily contemplating stabbing it into the temptingly close white-clad thigh. He soon gave up the idea and simply dropped the instrument as he accepted the fact that it would only hurt Percival – it wasn’t worth it. 

Gellert sighed theatrically, summoned the fork back into his hand and placed it back into Newt’s hand with a firm grip before stepping back to his own seat, Newt didn’t drop it again but didn’t move toward his meal either. Just because Grindelwald hadn’t attempted to poison him or force-feed him recently didn’t mean that he felt in any way inclined to eat. He looked over to Percival, eyes skating over his juddering form in worry. Percival offered him a pinching of his brows and warming of eyes that Newt guessed was a smile behind the muzzle and offered a very slight twitching of his own lips in return. It was both better and worse having Percival here – worse in the vulnerability that his presence represented but better simply because Newt didn’t have to do this alone. 

“Must we go through this, Newt?” Gellert’s voice drew his attention to the other man’s pale, mildly irritated face, the elder wizard looking pointedly between Newt and the food in front of him. Newt shifted slightly, running a finger nervously over the edge of the fork, feeling the cool metal and attempting to draw strength and steel from it.

“For every time you put me in this situation, yes, I suppose so.” He did find himself wondering at the wizard’s repeated attempts at this similar setup – the dining table, a decadent meal and Newt as an unwilling guest. There must be some sort of deep-rooted fixation there that he had neither the time nor inclination to figure out: trying to unravel every facet of what drove Grindelwald was not a good use of whatever little time he might have left.

“Would you rather we skip the niceties and I simply fuck and claim you upon this table right here and now before I put the pup down?” Gellert asked, gesturing in Percival’s direction aggressively, eyes hard and tone provocative. Newt shook his head mutely. The more time he had playing Grindelwald’s odd, pointless little games, the more chance he might have to figure a way out of this…even if it only ended up prolonging their suffering, at least he could know that he tried. 

“Now then, be a good guest and eat up,” Grindelwald commented in a light, bright tone, watching as Newt reached forward, spearing a cooked, honey-glazed carrot with the fork and bringing it to hover before him, eying it with a healthy amount of scepticism. “There’s nothing amiss about this meat, I simply know from experience that you rarely take well enough care of yourself for you to be in peak physical condition for our time together. A bit of red meat might put some colour into your cheeks, I’d wager,” his eyes gleamed, “Well, before I do, that is.”

Newt nearly choked on the bite he took at the words but swallowed it down, nonetheless. He glanced once more to Percival who was watching his every move carefully but he received no signal from the other man that indicated he knew whether the food had been tampered with. As before, Grindelwald tucked into his meal with disproportionate relish, only occasionally pausing to sip wine and smirk genially over at Newt as he picked at his dinner, skirting deliberately around the meat. The room was beginning to take on a peculiar shimmery edge after only a few bites of carrot and he instinctively looked up to Gellert, his eyes swimming slightly but hard in his thoroughly justified suspicion.

“I thought you s-said that the food was safe,” he slurred the words slightly, head bobbing and feeling rather light, like it could disconnect from his neck at any moment. 

Gellert’s smile was patient and pleased “I did, didn’t I? Or more accurately, I implied that the _meat_ was safe – the one part I knew you’d avoid. Had you not been your usual stubborn self, you might’ve avoided this, too.”

His expression was not unsympathetic but the hand that stroked over Newt’s now limp one was invasive enough to warrant concern bubbling beneath the sudden fuzziness he was experiencing. Newt felt panic clawing under the surface like nails on thick glass, high, piercing and pitched in fever but could not move, could not entirely think beyond a basic train of thought…and of how nice that voice was. Soft, melodic, deep and rich all at once…he liked it…it reminded him of cool stone, clear air and hushing lullabies. _Counting freckles across pale, bloody flesh…_

He shook himself mentally and focussed upon Percival’s wide, angry eyes across the table from him, using them as an anchor to ground his floating self, head tilting toward Gellert unintentionally as he spoke: “W-what didya give me...?”

Gellert smiled indulgently, running cool hands over Newt’s face and checking his eyes beneath their drooping lids with a brisk, careful touch, not releasing him immediately after satisfying his need and stroking lightly along Newt's heavy lips and his cheekbone. “Just a little of my personal variant of Veritaserum. Nothing to be anxious about.”

“W-why?” came the garbled question.

“You know why, don’t you, Liebling?”

“Yes,” Newt blurted, the potion prompting the reply before he could think about it or stop it, his head lolling on his neck in the near-pleasant haze.

“And?” Gellert prompted, eyes soft and firm on his as his thumb moved away to accommodate Newt’s reply properly.

“You’re desperate…you want me to admit something that I wouldn’t otherwise…you can’t take not knowing...” the words surprised him but his numb lips let them go, all the same, twitching into a slightly goading, very hazy smile as he looked up at Grindelwald through his fringe. He saw irritation there but also an odd sense of pride that left him smiling wider, it made him feel good to see that emotion there. Newt heard a low growl and twitched his head toward the source, seeing Percival and jolting himself slightly back into sense as much as the potion would allow which, unfortunately, wasn’t very much at all. _What in Merlin’s name did he add to have this effect on him? _

Gellert caught his attention again with another question when he saw that it had drifted, “And is there anything that you want to admit to me at this moment?”

“Wearing so much white really isn’t very practical,” Newt sighed amusedly, eyes raking over the dark wizard’s apparel with that same numb smile pulling his lips and he felt another, though different, thrill of warmth flood him at the pride in Percy’s eyes. He seemed to like Newt’s avoidances of Grindelwald’s true meaning and his wry humour, and that spurred Newt on. “Also, I’m getting rather fed up with the predictability of your ideas of an evening out…you used to have imagination…you know?” 

The reply made perfect sense in his swimming, rose-tinted mind and the muffled laugh it drew from across the table was almost worth the harsh, resounding slap that struck the side of his face. He gasped as his tingling nerve endings were left stinging and reeling, his head jerking up a little, body straightening against his bindings from where he hadn’t truly realised he’d been almost entirely slumped. “That wasn’t necessary,” once again, his mouth was on autopilot and he braced himself for another blow, feeling vaguely surprised when a mere caress of the slapped cheek came instead. 

“Seems I got the alterations a little off what I intended,” Gellert said, briskly straightening and looking between both men before continuing, “but no matter, the core purpose of the draught is still effective enough.” 

Grindelwald waved a hand at Percival and both men were shocked to witness the muzzle falling from his face, the Auror working his jaw furiously, teeth swiftly baring at Grindelwald and eyes wild. Gellert merely laughed softly and fixed the American Werewolf with a patronisingly patient gaze. “Now, is there anything that you would like dear Newt’s complete honesty on, Percy? I’d imagine that this is a rare opportunity what with all your avoidances for the sake of sparing one another’s feelings,” he side-smiled thinly, “Surely you must be just _brimming_ with questions?”

“Just what went so fecking wrong in your twisted mind that you ever thought that someone could love you once they saw what you were,” there was something else snarling Percival’s words now that hadn’t been present before except for perhaps a few times in the very deepest throes of passion between him and Newt. There was a twang of an old accent, close to that of his mother's now that Newt came to think of it, and he supposed that the smooth American husk he had always known wasn’t in fact the tone Percival had grown up with. It seemed his rage, his burgeoning, excruciating transformation and perhaps something else, was tinting his voice back to its original colour.

His suspicion of another force was strengthened as Gellert spoke, “Now, I had thought that your dose was strong enough to warrant a little less hostility and a little more curiosity.”

“Oh, my curiosity is only too genuine, you bastard, like what sound you'll make when I castrate you,” the growl was deep and rumbling, more beast than man, and it sent a shiver down Newt’s spine even in his rose-tinted, slightly glowy haze. 

“Oh now, really, Percy, you’re just giving me ideas. I’m sure Newt wouldn’t like his pup neutered.”

“Gellert-”

Newt’s protest was cut short as the wizard’s hand slipped over his mouth; the elder’s eyes fixed upon Percival now even as he admonished Newt swiftly. “Hush now, I think that it's good for your Percy to speak his mind. Give the dog a good run, so to speak.”

“You really sure you want that? You sure your fragile little state of an existential crisis can take it? You think that your need to find encouragement for your delusions can handle the truth?” Percival’s tone was pure venom, he expression goading and teeth bared. Newt tried to catch his eye, shaking his head as much as he could in Gellert’s grip over his mouth but the Auror’s eyes were locked on Grindelwald and Grindelwald alone. He was undoubtedly trying to goad the man, to get his attention away from Newt and the Magizoologist knew both men intimately enough to know that it would not end well if he succeeded in doing so.

“Oh Percy, is that _really_ the best you can do. I must say I’m disappointed in your transparency,” He clucked his tongue critically and tilted Newt’s head back further against him, pressing the area just above his forehead into the crisp white fabric of his lapel, pulling Newt’s neck to an uncomfortable, incredibly vulnerable degree. He swallowed, throat bobbing visibly and eyes strained as they looked up to Gellert, gauging his reaction, praying that he wouldn’t be forced to do anything too exponentially stupid or dangerous to distract the dark wizard from Percival. 

“Since when have you ever been bothered with the appearance of honesty, you deluded fuck? For all your talk of love and caring and wanting what’s best for Newt, you’ve lied to him so many times I’ve lost track. You wouldn’t know love if it hit you in the face! And it damn well should have by now. Multiple times.”

Percival’s lips were twisted into an ugly smile, baiting, pulling out everything he could think of that actually might affect the man and Newt was beginning to fear he might be getting close if the slowly rising pressure of the hand on his jaw was any gauge.

“You know I’m telling you the truth when I say this thanks to whatever crap you dosed me with,” his voice was slow and deliberate as he gritted out every single following word:

“_You_._ Don’t_._ Deserve_._ Newt_.

“Hell, neither of us do,” Percival barked out a bitter laugh of his own, true pain shining momentarily in his eyes as he glanced to Newt, just briefly but enough for the Magizoologist to feel the tears pressing at his eyes again, “-but at least I haven’t raped him.” Newt tried not to flinch at the word but the tension rising in Percival’s jaw told him he’d failed as the Auror barrelled on, “At least I haven’t fucked with his mind to get what I want. I haven’t tortured him. I haven’t tried to change the very nature of what makes Newt, _Newt,_” He took a deep breath, a sad, bitter smile forming on the corners of chapped, scarred lips, “But you’ve done all of that. And more. And I don’t give a damn if you think this’ll all help him or make him stronger or whatever else damn crazy nonsense you try to reason with…in the end…it ain’t gonna matter if he’s yours or not because if he is…he won’t be Newt anymore and I’m not sure if you could live with doing that.” His eyes hardened and the smile was gone, “Because I’d make it my duty to make sure that you didn’t.” 

Grindelwald’s hold on Newt relaxed then and Newt only had a moment of uncertainty before the hand on his mouth was gone, instead scraping up to fist in his hair. It stung, but Newt didn’t let a sound escape him. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction or Percival the pain. He was unable to stifle it for long however as the bonds released Newt from the chair and he could only flail slightly as he was dragged up by the grip on his messy curls. His legs seemed unstable at first but he managed to get them back into a sense of numb coordination as Gellert dragged him around the table to fling him at Percival’s feet. He landed on his hands and knees, both scraping on the wood as his limbs were exposed, the landing laddering the stockings encasing his legs and sending tingling shockwaves of pins and needles up his arms. Newt hissed as his head was tugged up again to face Percival, pressed to Gellert’s thigh behind him in another disconcerting movement of déjà vu – the confrontation in Nurmengard years before flickering before his eyes. The positioning deliberate and purposeful.

From this close, Newt could smell the sweat, salt, bitterness of unknown herbs and even a copper tang of blood on the other, could see each rivulet of sweat glistening as it ran down his bare, juddering flesh, along the rigidly defined muscles and onto the metal of his shackles. He saw how Percival’s jaw was working, almost chewing apart his damaged lips in his effort to repress his clear rage, his regret at having his attempt backfire on him so that Newt was the one being made to suffer Grindelwald’s wrath instead of him.

“You claim superiority, Graves, but it’s you who’s forcing me to hurt him now. You know how I work, any minor blows you manage to land on me in any way will just be inflicted on the other. You two are pitifully predictable,” he spoke then as if to a toddler, someone slow-witted and vexing, “Did you forget our connection, Percy? I linked us so because you will always submit for one another, it's an obvious weakness to exploit and if you insist upon testing me then Newt will just have to pay that price for you. See what your outburst has wrought him? Are you proud of yourself?” 

“But would you submit for him?”

The question came quickly, sharply and Newt could’ve sworn that Grindelwald’s hand jumped where it was fisted in his taut, stinging hair. Percival barrelled on again, pursuing the challenge like a dog with a bone. **(Plot bunnies please forgive my terrible puns) **

“The Ministry was trying to get Newt because they saw your fixation on him and thought that you would come for him if they were to take him into custody. Would you have done it? Would you give up your freedom?”

“You’re forgetting, Graves, that I already did: ten months locked inside my own sanctum and-”

“No,” Percival cut in bluntly, startling everyone, even Gellert, to silence, “You were in the hands of someone you knew would be sympathetic, someone who would pander to your whims and someone who allowed you to continue meddling and damaging because he foolishly thought it would rehabilitate you,” Percival’s eyes narrowed, “What would you do if you had no chance of escape should you be captured? No little escape hatches through another man’s mind and body to use as your plaything? What would you do if they asked you to roll over and beg for Newt’s life and wellbeing? His happiness?” His voice dropped to a hiss, “I don’t think you would. You’re too damn selfish for that.” 

“You’re wrong,” Grindelwald’s voice was soft, almost breathy but cracked just slightly along the edges.

“Am I?” Percival’s brow arched impressively sceptically considering the fact that his whole body was still quaking with agony and tension.

Gellert’s hand loosened in Newt’s hair, pausing before releasing and Newt gratefully let his head drop into a more natural position with a soft sigh. Percival’s eyes narrowed further, taking in the release with dubious expectation. Newt waited for a few seconds, unsure of what the release meant, and when Gellert did nothing, he slowly reached up and used the edge of the table to lever himself up onto feet clad in delicate, tapered heeled shoes. He stepped away from Grindelwald, moving to place a soft, protective hand on Percival’s trapped one, curling his fingers gently around the Auror’s and feeling a subtle squeeze back that bolstered the confidence it took to turn back to face Grindelwald again. The possibility of hope was blossoming a little brighter in him at Gellert’s lack of action, the way he was regarding Newt and Percival blankly, no trace of tension in him.

But then he saw the creases around the dark wizard’s eyes tighten as he spoke, “You are wrong, Graves. But I will admit that it is not entirely your fault in this instance, that you would think otherwise. You have the disadvantage of a lack of foresight. Or rather, one Sight in particular,” he looked directly into Newt’s eyes, both orbs alit with meaning that Newt couldn’t quite figure. “My fate is sealed and has been for longer than I ever cared to admit. My freedom is but temporary, and instead of waging the war I seek or focussing solely upon my cause, I devoted the majority of my efforts to securing what I know must happen. And Newt is the key element of this fate,” his lips curled in a bitter smile, “Call it selfish but I would rather accept the future I’ve seen my actions resulting in in every variation of unfolding events as long as it included keeping my Glutblüte in that vision.”

Gellert’s eyes were still fixed upon Newt’s, the younger man feeling something stick in his throat as his grip tightened on Percival’s hand, almost as if he sensed what was about to happen after Grindelwald murmured words for Newt alone, “Ich Kann nur auf die Liebe der Lieblosen hoffen. Das tut mir wirklich leid, aber es ist notwendig.”

Newt barely had time to grasp the words before Gellert stepped forward and in a swift movement snatched a knife up from the table and stabbed it into Newt’s chest. He jerked and gasped, tainted-green eyes wide and shocked as he felt his legs go weak, the protruding short blade lodged firmly into the flesh just below his clavicle. He could feel the knife scraping along his first rib as he staggered, hand twitching up to clutch just below the wound, not quite daring to touch as blood soaked through buttery silk.

“NO!”

He heard Percival’s voice yelling but didn’t see him as he collapsed forward, knees shuttering out from under him, his hand barely grasping Percival’s one last time before it lost contact. He was only saved from the pain of meeting the floor as Gellert caught him around the waist and shoulders, manhandling him possessively, firmly back into his arms as he backed from the room. Percival’s calls did not stop and nor did the wrenching, cracking sound of Percival pulling his damaged limbs in blind attempts to free himself. “No! No! Dammit! Newt! Please, please, don’t do this! Grindelwald! You fucking bastard! You ugly, yellow-bellied coward! Don’t do this!” he heard a half-broken sob as he was pulled down the corridor. “Please. Let me help him. You can’t heal him. Let me help,” another low sound that was like the sound of an injured animal and it tore through Newt like nothing else, “Please.”

It burned through the pain and Newt attempted weakly to push Gellert away from him but was halted by the blinding, paralyzing pain that shot through him as the blade shifted again, the centre of his chest burning. The young Magizoologist cried out, going limp and losing awareness of Gellert taking him up the stairs, scooped up like some swooning maiden in the dark wizard’s arms, the blade shifting again and blood soaking into both silk and the white material of Grindelwald’s suit. All his shattered sight could focus upon was the red blooming through the white lapel his face was pressed against.

Like blood in the snow. 

It was only the sudden presence of the soft mattress and sheets underneath him and the clink of chains wrapping themselves around wooden slats that brought him back to awareness. The cold metal cinching his wrists up above him and binding tight, Newt’s glistening eyes shooting wide as Grindelwald placed a firm hand on the handle of the knife and looked down at him in stern purpose. “Now, Liebling, this will hurt, but I assure you. This will not be our end,” he sighed, angling his body so that he was straddling Newt’s legs and orientated around the blade like a compass point. “Now stay _very_ still.” 

And with that, he began to twist the blade deeper, angling the tip down under Newt’s ribs to _oh so very_ delicately scrape the very edge of his frantically hammering heart. Newt did exactly as told but more because he didn’t want to die like this and leave Percival at Gellert’s mercy rather than out of any desire to obey the sadistic intentions.

The agony was indescribable as the blade dug very slightly deeper, Gellert’s movements perfectly controlled as timed his minute, barely- there cuts with each beat of the panicked organ. Newt would have likely been astounded and impressed if here wasn’t too busy whimpering in pain, nostrils flaring and eyes rolling into the back of his skull eerily in random motions. He couldn’t fathom why or how Grindelwald was doing this and honestly, he couldn’t find it in his perforated heart to care. Why wasn’t he dead, Gellert’s magic couldn’t be keeping him alive, could it? How? How? How? Why? Why? Why?

“Hurts,” the word was choked from his numb lips and he didn’t know why, it wasn’t like it would stop anything. Nothing would. He couldn’t struggle unless he wanted a swifter death but the longer this went on, the scratching directly into his still- beating heart...he was so very tempted to do just that.

Gellert’s free hand was suddenly at his cheek, wiping away the tears and smoothing rough curls out of his sweaty face. “Shhhh shhhh shhh. It’s alright, it’s nearly over now, sweetness. You’re strong enough to withstand this – you know you are. You’ve been through its like before...be still...”

Newt found himself nodding just slightly and the blade moved again, deeper than it had dared to before and he screamed as a jolt of sensation flared up through him, starting at his heart and pumping through his veins with every beat. Reaching further into his tingling, humming bloodstream and causing white lights to flash before his eyes. Then silver. Then a deeper blue than anything he'd ever seen – not darker, just...fathomless.

Newt arched, gasping and pressing into the body above him; he didn’t know how long his muscles locked him there for, only that when they released, he could see properly again. He felt warm, strong and humming with energy, it was bizarre – not what he had been expecting at all from the process' completion. He felt...full. Brimming over, in fact, and he couldn’t place just why.

He opened stinging eyes to see an implacably exhausted- looking Gellert hovering above him, his eyes beckoning him. “Come now, Newt, you should be able to move just fine, just focus on me.” Newt managed to do just that and Gellert smiled sweetly, encouragingly, “There we go, that’s it. Now there’s likely something in your case you could use for the scarring and bleeding, isn’t there? Tell me where it is and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“No...” Newt garbled, head turning leadenly on the pillow, eyes rolling and stomach following suit, “Not... going near my c-case...”

“Verdammt Nicht, I have not and will not harm a single creature. If it helps, I shall not enter it either, just tell me where to summon your potions from and I shall do so. Quickly now.”

Newt mulled it over, head swaying lazily from side to side and hands tugging absently, weakly, on the chains that encased his wrists. Eventually, his glazed eyes drifted downward, taking in his blood-soaked, marred chest and the undoubtedly ruined dress; the blade was laying there too, indolent and clean but for the familiar crimson cannelure running down the centre. The same blade that had removed the bond from him. The significance was not lost on him but the specific meaning was a far stretch away from Newt just then.

The blood and pain were intimately understood, however.

“No Dittany left...try-...ugh-” Newt cut off, an unbearable pressure in his chest and throat forcing hacking coughs from him. He felt warm, coppery blood flecking lips and splattering across his chest as he jerked, spasming violently on the bed. His eyes rolled again and he heard loud, inarticulate strings of cursing interspersed heavily with such a variety of languages that even he couldn’t understand.

He was a little too distracted with choking to death on his own blood after all.

The hands left him then, and he was faintly aware of sounds of surprise but also of encouragement before Newt felt the sharp prod of something unfamiliar on his cheek. He managed to get his eyes to roll forward from the back of his skull for just a few moments, enough to witness the blurs of black, red and gold directly above him.

Newt felt a dampness descend upon his cheek, unlike the blood that seemed to be everywhere. It was warm and soft, delicate and shining pearlescent as it rolled down his face, pooling at his clavicle. It slid a little lower, shone and then disappeared again. Things started to get clearer after that, blindingly painful, piercing through the haze but clearer, nonetheless. He could open his eyes with more success than before, could move his aching, twitching limbs with some semblance of control. Able to focus upon the faces surrounding him, two of them not human – one crimson, one pitch. Credence and Fawkes. Both sets of onyx eyes spilling over.

It was alarming -- he reached out a leaden hand to comfort both but couldn’t quite make it before his aching body prevented him, protesting vehemently as pain tore across his chest. Fawkes, at least, ducked closer to him, allowing the contact whilst Credence fluttered back, hopping on the clawed feet of his chosen form, retreating to the desk in the corner where Newt could now see his case lying open. It hadn’t been moved much after all; just kept out of Newt’s line of sight as a silent threat to his creatures. Newt let his gaze return to Gellert to witness his stunned expression, the seeming self-satisfaction and the fondness, the focus upon the blood still staining the silk and sheets that encompassed Newt’s form. The pain was receding now, the hole in his chest healing and sealing itself, like a cauterisation of puckered skin bellow the centre-part of his clavicle but without the heat of a flame.

“Atta boy, Credence, I knew you could be counted upon when the time came for your assistance. You’ve mastered yourself wonderfully just as I said you would. You just needed to find the right form to suit your nature.” Gellert’s head tilted, hand stroking gently, possessively over Newt’s hand even as he eyed the transformed boy nearby with awe. “You needn’t fear your freedom any longer, you know. It is assured as long as you are careful. I shall keep my word as you have your own. Thank you, Credence.”

The pitch feathered form of the Obscurus regarded both men on the bed with large, dark, shining eyes, wings raised slightly as if prepared for flight but his claws digging tight enough into the wood below hinting at indecision. The dark orbs met Newt’s, clearly disturbed even in his dark phoenix form and Newt found himself reassuring the boy in the way he always would a creature. Smiling softly, ignoring Gellert’s hands on him and twitching his head toward the open door in a way reminiscent of how he did when he saw the young American in Paris. Credence may have made his own deal with the devil he knew but it didn’t mean that he didn’t deserve his freedom from it now if Gellert was truly offering it. And Newt got the feeling that he was. Grindelwald’s actions were that of a desperate man accepting his fate, a final march to his end and Newt found hope in the idea that Credence might just be safe from that now. 

“Thank you, Credence.” Newt whispered and jerked his head again, reasserting his approval for the Obscurus to leave. Credence turned his head to one side, pausing before cawing in a way that, whilst closely resembling a true phoenix, sounded somehow deeper, huskier and that little bit more human. Uniquely his own. The boy met eyes with his crimson counterpart nearby, communicating something that even Newt didn’t quite understand but it looked fond, whatever it was and Fawkes cawed in response before Credence took flight. The ex-Salemer darted out of the door and Newt heard a shattering of glass moments later that told Newt he had likely used his immense strength in his Obscurus form – even altered as it was – to punch through the landing window. He was probably scared enough of what he’d seen to want to get out of there as soon as he could.

Gellert turned his full attention back to Newt, eyes soft and tired as he looked down, stroking a hand over Newt’s brow and using the other to push back the ruined silk to examine the wound sealed over his heart. He hummed approvingly, running a finger over the slight scar, a white puncture to join its brethren and Newt felt the familiar fear seep back into him now, he tugged testingly on the chains, fingers seeking the links and pulling for weakness where there was none to be found. Gellert’s smile was sickeningly satisfied as he slowly straddled Newt once more, slinging each leg over Newt’s irresponsive hips and brushing his hair from his face, his own flaxen strands falling into his face loose and almost as boyish as the glimmer in his mismatched eyes.

“There now, can you feel it flowing through you, Newt?” he almost cooed, lips twisted, “Feels glorious, doesn’t it?”

Newt shook his head, unsure of how to describe the sensations running through him by his blood but not thinking that _glorious _was one of them. “What did you do?”

“We’ll have plenty of time to discuss that later. Hush now, Lustmolch. This will change you for the better, I promise you that,” he tugged apart the shoulder of Newt’s ruined gown, the seams splitting easily and Newt shivered at the further exposure of tingling skin as Gellert’s head dipped to devour it, lips pressing and tongue licking up the spilt crimson. 

“No, Gellert, no, please, don’t-” Newt was begging again but he couldn’t care, too weary, too wary to keep his pride but still hoping against all reason for a reprieve. 

“I’m simply going to take what I want from you and you can deal with the consequences of your mistake by your strength alone. I would wager that your blasted Auror won’t want you after this,” Gellert mumbled into his neck, teeth scraping the newly- made and healed wound to dizzying, heated sprigs of pain digging into his flesh along with the burrowing teeth.

“What did-” Newt choked off as his dress was shredded further, a powerful tug revealing him and the tight undergarments that had been hidden until now by his quite adequate distractions and the buttery, bloody silk. The lacy dark underwear pressing obscenely against his just barely stirring cock, contrasting against pale, freckled, blood spotted skin, it was a sinful mockery of his own damaged self and the debauched look that Gellert had forced upon him. The dress stripped completely from him to pool on the floor out of sight like sunlight dripping from the sky to leave the sky dark and lit only by the paleness of moonlight, Newt’s skin shining through as bright as the desperation in his eyes. 

Gellert continued his apparent fixation upon abusing Newt’s nipples, lathing them into hardened raised, red nubs upon his shuddering chest and suckling possessively, alternating between each to give them fair treatment until Newt was arching up into the contact against his better will and sense. He pressed his eyes tight shut in mortification. Gellert always seemed to know just what would work in melting away his sanity and resistance, making him too flushed with arousal to think much more on his true will. Newt pressed one side of his face into the pillow, smelling the lingering scent of Percival and focusing upon it rather than the overwhelming lightning, Juniper tang of Gellert. It helped to calm him just a little, to soothe his hammering, smarting heart. He hoped that Percival couldn’t hear or see any of this, that he was downstairs and unaware even if the uncertainty would distress Percival further, it was better than having him see Newt like this…not for Grindelwald.

“Newt?” Gellert’s palm was cupping his face now, turning him back around to face him and looking down with a mix of concern and want, lips parted in the panting of his arousal, the further evidence of it pressing through the man’s suit trousers into the black lace covering Newt’s own. “That’s it, Liebling, I’m here, breathe now.”

Newt shook his head mutely but did not resist as Gellert leant down to claim his lips in a stinging kiss, it was sweet but fierce and Newt found himself being pulled irresistibly back into the other man. He sighed a shaking breath when Gellert withdrew, eying him with satisfaction and leaning back to divest himself of his suit, tie and shirt. Newt was shocked to hear a pained hiss come from the other man as the sleeve of his shirt slid over one arm and though the flesh of that hand had previously appeared smooth and undamaged as ever, it was now clearly marred and lined with ropy burn scars. They overlapped the man’s tattoo, distorting the design with the newer burns and Newt couldn’t help but stare, Gellert, of course, caught his stare and offered a thin, pained, wry smile, “Albus’ price for my freedom…and mine for yours, I suppose.”

“An…unbreakable vow?” Newt croaked. He had suspected as much but had not seen the irrefutable proof until now. He could only assume that the wounds looked so angry after Gellert had given him back his memories so many months ago. Grindelwald accommodatingly held his arm closer for Newt to examine, flexing his wrist even as three fingers played with the nearest wisps of Newt’s copper hair.

“It's not of import right now, though it's nice to know that you still feel some concern for my wellbeing,” the tone was playful but the intent in Gellert’s kisses that ran down from Newt’s neck to his stomach was enough to determine that he was in no mood for delaying his pleasure any longer. He returned to Newt’s chest, circling and sucking and Newt found himself attempting to writhe away, the prolonged attention hypersensitizing that particular part of his body past the point of pleasure bordering more into just pain, green eyes scrunched tight shut. Newt’s knees pulled up to attempt to knock the man off him when Gellert’s wandering hand found his cock, palming it to full life through the slight scratchy black lace, his legs paused however as Gellert pulled back just enough to speak in a low growl. 

"Move another muscle and I'll bite it off, Liebling." Newt wisely froze under him, letting his legs go lax, not willing to test the man's threat. "Maybe I should just pierce them up for you, so you can forever play with your pretty little nipples and think of me," he smirked thoughtfully and Newt jerked his head in the negative, gasping as Gellert’s hand found his throat, gently caressing before he tightened his grip and fear flashed up like wildfire. "Maybe your cock too, so that any who might see it know whom it belongs to." He titled his head “Silver always did look so pretty on you after all.”

Newt shook his head, desperately, pulling against the grip on his neck as much as his pinned movement would allow before Gellert relented and eased off in both his threats "No, you're right of course, should leave you some flesh to yourself, after all, wouldn't do to have all these pretty freckles covered up with scars now would it?"

He began humming again, a familiar, warm tune against Newt's skin and that was when he felt the first true sobs cracking themselves from his chest.

He couldn't do this. Not again.

Something, someone...just make it stop...

"Your lips are so pretty this colour, sweet thing, blue, almost purple, but I think I prefer them red..." he dug his nails deep into the shoulder wound as before to draw more blood to the surface, using the tip of one careful finger to smear it across Newt's recalcitrant lips. Tainting them with a gory red smile that overlapped slightly onto his cheeks to make the expression for him. He tugged the black lace down Newt’s legs and, using that same slick, he began pressing at Newt’s entrance with decided precision and intent. Newt began to breathe harshly, face flushed and legs scrambling uselessly against the blood-slick sheets, trying to resist the intimate intrusion with everything he had left, knowing that he couldn’t truly fight it but wanting to know that he hadn’t simply lain there in complete submission. There were sucking sounds and Newt saw Gellert licking his blood off the fingers that weren’t currently pressed into him, the ones that weren’t stretching his unprepared body past endurance. The image was obscene and it was only then that Newt noticed that Grindelwald had at some point shed his trousers and was hard and flushed, alarmingly close to where his fingers intruded. He jerked, pulling on his wrists firmly until his movement unintentionally scooted him further down the bed and into Gellert’s probing fingers, they hit that sweet point with perfect precision and Gellert smirked wider than ever. “Ahh, eager little thing aren’t we, Lustmolch.” 

He withdrew his fingers abruptly and despite himself, just as before so long ago in that cold box of stone, he found his hips canting forwards to chase the sensation, to accept the intrusion in all its debauchery and fiery pleasure. Gellert’s tongue popped out to taste the traces of Newt’s blood that was flecking his lips, horribly mismatched eyes glimmering heatedly as he stroked a hand across Newt’s ribs, tracing each one’s stark outline against his pale, scarred skin. Eventually, the hand drifted down to the place where the cilice had previously shredded him, a curious frown marring his features even as he spoke. “Can you not say that you’re enjoying this even a little, Newt? You have no blood-bond to blame this time, no reflection of my own want to accuse of confusing you, you tell me you don’t want this – or me – and yet I feel the evidence pressed up so enticingly against me,” Grindelwald shifted his hips very deliberately to brush the insides of his thighs against the aching, weeping head of Newt’s erection, the blasted, wonderful feeling thing that would not go away.

The dark wizard tilted his head, looking down at Newt almost pityingly, as if Newt were the unreasonable one and he was the one being gracious and conscientious, “No blood-bond, no spells and no potions aside from a little Veritaserum, can you honestly tell me that you are not ready for me?” 

His hand gripped Newt’s jaw and there must have been enough of the potion lingering in his leaked bloodstream to prompt an honest answer from him when questioned directly. Because answer he did, the words pulled from him, “It feels…good. Like my skin is on fire but the flames are cooling and soothing as they burn. The hurt warring with the relief.” The smirk that began to widen on the other man’s lips froze, however, as an equally honest but more intentional response followed “But it's still not right. I would rather be with Percival. In this and everything. No matter what you did to him or me.”

Gellert’s face closed off, the smile slipping from his face like oil from water, the expression no longer compatible with the surface it was forced on. “Very well, Newt, if that’s what you want. That’s what you’ll get.” He reached up and wrenched the chains from where they had been secured and wrapped around the bedposts, tugging Newt upright until their faces were inches from one another, Newt’s chained hands pinned between both bare chests. The metal cool on heated skin but not the reason that Newt’s shivers intensified. The next second, Gellert had apparated them both, Newt’s abused form protesting vehemently as it was suddenly slammed hard into the edge of a table, plates, cutlery and food went scattering to the floor on either side of the table he was now pinned to. Gellert was astride him as before but now they were not alone, the young magizoologist pinned in nought but the ripped black stockings and garters that encased his legs and the lace underwear that had at some point been tangled down near his ankles. He heard Percival’s laboured breath and furious, frantic growl that sounded from nearby, Newt twisting his head to see the Auror at an angle to the left of him, still sat at the head of the table though it looked like he had succeeded in dislocating one of his shoulders in his frantic fight to be free. 

Gellert, with little hesitation, dipped three fingers into a nearby wine goblet, pulling them out again, licking up a stray drop before pressing them back inside Newt’s tight entrance all at once and the Magizoologist cried aloud, eyes brimming with more tears at the burn. The cries transformed, however, as he felt waves of sparks dance behind his eyes, the digits inside him seeking out a knowing rhythm, tapping and twisting a teasing dance on his prostate until he was sobbing in earnest, joined hands gripping hard at his aggressor’s broad shoulders though whether to push him away or pull him closer, Newt didn’t know. 

“Get the fuck off him, you perverted son of a bitch!” the voice that uttered the warning barely sounded human anymore, Percival’s eyes blown wide and colour closer to a bestial amber than their natural mahogany now.

“Do you want that, Newt, do you want me to stop?” The dark wizard cooed in a sing-song manner, pressing one finger harder than ever into the spot that made all coherent thought flee Newt, the elder’s other hand pulling cruelly on one abused nipple, nails tracing the slit created in the tip harshly until Newt screamed.

“No! Ple-...please!” 

“See, Percy? He likes it.”

“You fucker! I’m going to-” Percival’s threat was cut off with a gesture of Gellert’s hand, Newt seeing the upside-down image of the cruel metal muzzle attached itself to Percival’s furious face and hearing the revolting crack as the device snapped Percival’s jaw back into full alignment. The sound was enough to have Newt fighting properly again; he used his grip on Gellert’s shoulders to push back and began kicking, twisting and bucking until a resounding backhand snapped his head to one side and his cheek was almost skewered by a fork resting on the table nearby. Ironically enough, nearly taking out the eye that was once threatened by such a utensil a few years before. It was thankfully brushed aside by Gellert’s hand before Newt could truly be harmed and his thumb brushed in a cursory manner over the small cuts created before pulling Newt’s eyes back to meet his own by a fierce grip on his hair.

Gellert expression was stormy as he regarded Newt from above, fingers withdrawing once more and instead, moving to fist himself, pumping a hand over his engorged shaft before kissing its tip to Newt’s, sore, stretched, tingling hole. The young magizoologist could hear Percival’s continued attempts to yell muffled threats and pleas at Grindelwald but couldn’t quite focus on anything but the sensation of being slowly pressed into, the large cock spearing into him even as his muscles clenched in a detrimental attempt to keep it out. The penetration was at least swift once Gellert had moved past the initial ring of straining muscle, he slid himself in with an obscenely loud and satisfied groan that Newt suspected was more for Percival’s provocation than anything else...but then again, Gellert had been waiting so very long to do this again. The thought sent further tremors through him and he jerked as the dark wizard fully seated himself within Newt, giving a testing snap of his hips that had Newt whimpering. 

“Just as tight and wanting as ever, mein Haustier,” Gellert breathed, using both arms to support himself as he began a slow, thorough pace that hit right into him every time, Newt’s face wet with tears and tiny, barely heard noises of pleasure breathing out amid the groans of discomfort and humiliation. The pinned young man saw the look that Grindelwald was giving Percival, taunting and satisfied as he pushed faster and deeper into Newt, relishing in the sounds and trembles he was drawing from Newt and the muffled cursing and yelling coming from the Auror.

Newt couldn’t help but feel responsible for what Percival was being forced to witness and not simply in the shame of his body’s reactions but for Newt’s forced honest answer tipping Gellert back over the teetering edge of personal intimacy and affection into sadism and voyeuristic cruelty. A cruelty that seemed to know little bounds as Gellert leant forward, pushing himself deeper into Newt on that thrust, eliciting a strangled sound that morphed into a near-scream as Gellert pressed his lips to the open wound on Newt’s shoulder, the dark wizard’s tongue pushing into the widening gash. He didn’t seem satisfied with merely penetrating Newt at the point of his body’s natural entrance and instead seemed intent upon creating another one with which to fuck his tongue into. Newt could feel the wet muscle violating the bleeding puncture mark and his cries rose in their volume the further Gellert managed to push into him.

When Gellert’s mouth withdrew, it was grinning and smeared with dark crimson, lips agape and head thrown back in apparent ecstasy – whatever demented form of it that could be drawn from fucking his tongue into another man’s open flesh. For Newt, all he could focus upon was the salty sting of tears upon his face and the small scratches littered thereabout. He felt his stubborn, lightning driven cock bobbing against his stomach then, a harsh reminder pressed between the two and left to spring back slightly with a wet slap when Gellert leant back to smirk down at him again.

“Gellert…please…stop this-” Newt tried but gave up as Grindelwald simply chuckled, thumbing the tears from Newt’s cheek and thrusting faster. Newt knew this pattern in him – had replayed and experienced it a thousand times over through fevered nightmares and sweat and tear-soaked sheets – but having Percival witness it just made it so much worse. It wasn’t just something that had been implied or edged around or sobbingly confessed, it was real – sweating, leaking and bleeding right in front of him on a dinner table let for luxury. Percival’s family home debased and tainted further by foul, irremovable images just as his perception of Newt no doubt was as the Magizoologist thrust up into the penetration and pleasure. As he sought whatever release he could from all of this. Gellert was at least merciful in that he quickened his pace, slamming hard into Newt and rattling the table and scattered dinner-décor below.

Newt forced his eyes shut, determined not to look at either Percival or Gellert when his climax came but, in this, Grindelwald was not so accommodating and instead halted his punishing pace, withdrawing and prompting Newt’s eyes open by drawing the copper-haired man up onto his knees. He pulled the limp, malleable form of Newt so that they were both knelt up, Newt forced forward to support himself on trembling, bound arms. The younger man could feel the cold air of the room attacking his gaping, slightly dripping hole, something sliding tantalisingly down his stockinged thighs even as Gellert’s warm, firm body pressed up against him from behind. The dark wizard’s hand fisted in Newt’s unruly curls, forcing his head around to be practically face to face with Percival who’s chair was pulled so close to the table Newt was displayed upon that both could see every line and detail of the other’s face and form. Percival’s eyes had spilt over long ago, blurred with his lupine nature as well as tears as he regarded Newt’s distraught, flushed, tear-stained face.

Newt’s full cock now bobbed below him where he was spread on all fours before Grindelwald, the man slamming back into him and drawing more pants from Newt but no tears this time, it felt as if they had dried up, his eyes red and swollen and wide pink lips trembling. He tried for a smile, bringing his bound hands forward to press just along the edge of Percival’s clawed fingertips before the thrusting pressure behind and within him forced him to find white-knuckled purchase on the table once more with a hiss. Though he couldn’t see his lips, Newt could see by the blown wide eyes that Percival was attempting to return his comfort, his weak, fragile, misplaced smile just because he could do little else. Newt was distracted from the kindness of the gesture however when he felt Gellert’s rough pace falter and he released within Newt, filling him with wet warmth before pulling him violently up by his hair. His back was pressed flush against Gellert’s chest, the man still buried deep within him as the elder’s free hand went to Newt’s untouched cock and the Magizoologist’s breath hitched in his chest, eyes wide and unblinking, staring straight forward. Gellert began to pump him, wrist-twisting his hand around his shaft repeatedly, thumb teasing the slit occasionally before sliding back down to press and massage at his balls until Newt felt the tell-tale rush of warmth and pressure within him, white dots exploding in his vision. He came with a silent cry, his seed splattering over his own chest first but then also Percival’s face as Gellert’s hand maneuverer Newt’s hard cock toward him, covering him in Newt’s release in a final cruel mockery to both.

Gellert pressed a chaste kiss to Newt’s cheek, tongue darting out to taste the corner of his split lip and dragging it back across his cheek before placing one final bite to the shell of his ear. He released Newt’s softening prick with a soft, satisfied sound and brought the sullied hand up to his own mouth to lick the excess off before offering it to Newt as if asking his opinion. Newt swallowed spasmodically several times to settle himself, turning his face away from the offered hand and feeling dull surprise when the refusal was actually allowed. Grindelwald released him with a low chuckle, pulling out with an equally deep groan, the Magizoologist shuddering and inadvertently clenching when he felt further slimy warmth sliding down his thighs from his abused hole.

Newt was ready to collapse forward face-first onto the table and curl up into a little, unnoticed ball but as he knew from experience, none of those things would be allowed to happen and was proved right instantly as Gellert wrapped him up in warm, unfairly comforting arms from where he had stepped off the table and onto the ground, scooping Newt against his chest, squeezing him momentarily before depositing him on a nearby chaise. It was soft but firm and the decorative pillows, whilst smelling a bit musty from age, also were scented faintly with Percival and were soft enough to provide some comfort for his aching head. He wasn’t tired enough to sleep instantly though, not like the last time, he wasn’t exhausted out of his mind by prolonged sleep-deprivation and had instead been allowed semi-decent rest after Gellert had forced him out of consciousness. He felt the scratchy lace slide back up his legs and thighs to partially cover his nakedness, the reprieve only partial from his abject humiliation. 

“There we go, it’s all alright, Liebling, nearly over now.” He felt Gellert’s hand softly pet his matted hair, carding it out of his face as he tugged Newt’s chain up from underneath him, Newt didn’t look up until the shock of the manacles clicking open prompted it, he looked up blearily into Gellert’s silver-blue eyes with confusion as the chains were set aside. Wait- silver-_blue_, no mahogany, when had that happened? He supposed it could have changed when he was facing Percival but surely the Auror would’ve felt it if the connection broke – would’ve somehow signalled to Newt of the change. But then…what if he had been as unaware as Newt was? They had both had ample distraction after all. Newt swallowed, staring up indecisively into Gellert’s eyes and made a decision the very second that he heard a low, furious, miserable whimper come from across the room.

Newt swallowed, averting his eyes momentarily before looking back up at Gellert coyly through his long lashes. He didn’t smile, didn’t want to lay it on too thick just yet, and coaxed Gellert’s lips to his with a gentle hand and a slip of his tongue into the other’s mouth. He pushed himself up properly on the sofa chair, netting-clad feet touching the cold floor and hand running up Gellert’s thigh, cupping his hip and moaning just slightly into the kiss. It was almost too easy to pretend at this but Gellert did not seem phased at all as he returned the kiss, humming out his satisfaction against Newt’s lips and Newt feigned an embarrassed, nervous duck of his head, allowing the other’s lips to brush the tip of his nose as the Magizoologist looked down at his own feet where they tucked over one another amid the scattered tableware.

He didn’t let his eyes linger too long on his intended target, however, as he didn’t want to give up the ghost just yet; instead, he let his gaze move up to Gellert’s stout, pale chest, up to his throat where it bobbed in time with the movements of his mouth. Newt tightened his hold on Gellert’s hip, levering himself down onto his knees before the dark wizard, lips pressing to Gellert’s knee, tracing kisses up his thigh to the rapidly interested member that lay there. Again, playing coy, he shifted on his free hand and knees, making a hopefully believable show of getting into a more comfortable position for his aching body to get Grindelwald off again. Instead, his searching fingers on the floor curled around the coolness of ceramic and silver. There was something odd in Grindelwald’s eyes, something almost hopeful but also something knowing, as if he sensed more than he was acting upon. Newt leaned closer, breathing out a hot breath into Gellert’s mouth as the man leaned forward for another deep kiss. He met it but only for a moment before he brought the carving knife in his hand up to slit Grindelwald’s throat. 


	15. I can carve a rainbow

**“Oh, Turpentine erase me whole, 'cause I don't want to live my life alone, well, I was waiting for you all my life…**

**Set me free, my honeybee…**

**You didn't have to smile at me, your grin's the sweetest that I've ever seen but you did, yes, you did. You didn't have to offer your hand 'cause since I've kissed it, I am at your command but you did…**

**…Hello, goodbye, I'm rather crazy and I never thought I was crazy, but what do I know? I let myself go. **

**Hello, goodbye, t'was nice to know you, how I find myself without you, that I'll never know, I let myself go.” – ‘Honeybee’ – Steam Powered Giraffe (Beautiful song that I think is a nice Percy/Newt) **

Newt drew the blade across Gellert’s throat swiftly but more softly than one would think his shuddering hands would allow. His aim wasn’t to kill immediately; it was a somewhat testing motion, to make concrete his theory that the two other men in the room were no longer connected, and when he glanced over his shoulder and saw Percival’s wide, disbelieving eyes but more importantly his uncut throat, Newt instantly began to deepen the cut. However, he was thrown backwards onto the floor before he could complete the motion. Gellert’s neck was bleeding, the slit wide but thin, the man’s hand grasping almost expertly at the severed flesh, pinching it together and angling his head back in such a way that he did not begin choking on the blood that was slipping over his pale fingers. Grindelwald’s eyes were alarmingly calm as he stood, expression tight and slightly furious but not surprised and Newt was swift to scramble back to his own feet, knife still clutched in his stained hand but now, without the limitation upon his magic from the chains, he turned and threw a hand out toward Percival. An alarming amount of power rushed out from what should have been a weak, wandless gesture and he gaped as the restraints on his partner all snapped away with brutal finality.

Newt lost track of Percival’s reaction except for the animalistic growls and snapping of bones as he was tackled into the table, Gellert’s bare form pressing into his own once more. Newt flinched, as he was once again pinned between wood and the man atop him, gritting his teeth and bringing the knife up to slash at him. The movement was caught by Gellert’s spare hand and Newt didn’t even have time to register his shock as the dark wizard twisted the blade from his hand and slammed it through Newt’s hand and into the lacquered wooden surface, pinning the appendage to the table. He was too shocked to even scream and instead muted his agony to a whimper, curling up on his side on the table in a feeble, instinctive attempt to protect the pierced hand. He looked up in fear, expecting Gellert to descend upon him once more, but was shocked to find the man backing away from the form of a hulking, barely humanoid Percival. His limbs were stretched, muscled and furred as that of the true form of the werewolf but his face looked caught between both forms; muzzle shorter, a humanness to the eyes and the black-silver sheen to his thicker fur that didn’t appear quite like the other werewolves Newt had encountered. Gellert was backing away fast, leading the werewolf around toward the other side of the room from where Newt was pinned and if Newt didn’t know any better, he could've sworn that the man both looked afraid and that he was trying to lead Percival away from Newt’s vicinity. As though he were suddenly concerned for Newt’s wellbeing after what he’d done. The man’s temperament was switching so fast Newt felt like he was getting whiplash.

Speaking of which, Newt could only watch in agonized, frozen horror as Percival lunged for the man, teeth aiming to tear, to kill and Newt was caught in a moment of panicked indecision: he had felt so ready, up until now, to see Grindelwald die. Even to have that death be by his own hand. But now that he was faced with the imminent prospect of this bestial form of his partner tearing the dark wizard’s throat out…it suddenly became far less clean- cut. He saw Gellert pinned under Percival’s hulking form, his arms and legs trapped beneath huge paws tipped with razor-sharp claws, claws and jaws that would alter irrevocably even if they didn’t kill…and saw how Gellert made no move to defend himself. Neither with his immense magical strength nor by even so much as a shove: unable move to out from under the werewolf’s weight and rage.

It was instinct. The need he felt to protect all life overshadowing his desire for revenge in an instant as he threw out a hand, sending the nearest silver pitcher slamming into the back of the werewolf’s head. Whilst it was not enough to knock him out, it was enough to momentarily stun and distract him. With a grit-teeth yell of agony, Newt jerked the knife from his hand in one abrupt movement, holding his bleeding hand aloft for the wolf to see and scent. Percival’s fully transformed amber eyes zeroed in on the gaping hole, sensing a better meal, a more exciting chase and likely, a familiar scent as Newt turned on his heel and ran, bolting through the corridor and down the steps that led to the underground room. He heard the howl and panting breath close behind him, his stockinged feet pounding hard on stone steps as he flung himself around each bend with increasing momentum. He didn’t even pause as he darted through the mercifully open cell door, throwing himself into the room but carefully avoiding the walls and the centre of the prism of runes. Newt was forced to stop then and turn to face the approaching werewolf, the movements of the creature distinctly predatory as he paced closer, but annoyingly and typically enough, also skating around the centre of the runes. Newt supposed rather distantly that all the transformations that had taken place in this room must’ve taught Percival’s wolf self to be as perceptive as his human one.

Bugger his luck.

Newt instead reverted to the tactics that were much more familiar to him than trapping his loved ones with ancient runes and slipped into a half-crouch, eyes firm on Percival’s wide amber eyes and palms pressed flat upon the slight slope of the floor. He began to speak, ignoring the sting of the wound on his palm against the cold stone and the agony radiating through his lower regions at the movements. “Percival? I don’t know how far gone you are right now but I suspect that you’ll remember this tomorrow even if you can’t act on it now,” he swallowed thickly, throat stinging and voice scratchy from Gellert’s repeated attempts to strangle him as well as from the prolonged crying. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened tonight and almost all the nights before it, but I know that you killing Gellert like this wouldn’t be…” he paused, unsure of the right word to use before he settled on merely saying, “It wouldn’t have made everything better.”

Percival growled, deep in his throat and dropped to all fours, loping ever nearer and though Newt held his ground, he waved his non-supporting hand at the door, shutting it and sealing the room, the wolf’s head snapped around at the sound before looking back to Newt with bared teeth and he leapt forward. He ended up barely missing Newt as the Magizoologist rolled to the side before back up into his crouch, eyes set upon Percival’s and voice continuing evenly. “There now, neither one of us is leaving this room until you’re human again.”

Percival snarled and lunged for him again and this time, Newt’s aching, battered body wasn’t quick enough and the wolf quickly pinned him in a similar way he had Gellert earlier though unfortunately sticking a paw onto Newt’s injured hand and he screamed, the pressure on the wound unbearable when added to the multitude of other pressure on his overtaxed body. Out of some bizarre instinct, Newt pressed his face forward into the pinning wolf’s shoulder, burying his face in black-silver sheened fur and a familiar scent that was marred by the tinges of fur, blood and something earthy and animalistic that somehow suited this meeting of the forms of the man he knew and beast.

Then the oddest thing happened – odder even than Newt’s reaction to the pain – Percival froze above him, his breath was coming out in low, growling pants but he didn’t move to kill, looking down at Newt with large, wide eyes. Newt returned the stare for a few moments more before Percival lifted his paw from Newt’s hand and the Magizoologist gingerly drew it up to cradle it on his chest, resting it protectively just above the new scar that resided over his hammering heart. He was further baffled though somewhat touched when the werewolf leant forward and placed a gentle though probably not particularly hygienic lick on over the punctured palm. Percival nuzzled his nose into the hand and despite the pain that radiated through him, he curled his fingers gently over the wolf’s nose, running a single touch over the snout and letting out a choked, slightly shaky breath as Percival seemed to accept it.

The werewolf manoeuvred himself so that he wasn’t quite astride Newt anymore, still pinning him but moving so that the mostly naked Magizoologist was pressed up against his warm, furred side. One foreleg slung over Newt’s form and keeping the shivering man against him, the cold dampness of Percival’s nose pressing into the back of Newt’s neck and making the Brit giggle slightly at the sheer absurdity of the situation. To be half-smothered under a pile of snuggling werewolf.

Newt attempted to shift into a slightly more comfortable position, perfectly willing to accept whatever calm and possessiveness had come across Percival’s wolf form, but there was a warning grumble against his throat at the movement and Newt instantly stilled, sighing out a slightly hysterical laugh as the werewolf rolled over onto him that bit more. It was almost like he was trying to keep Newt safe and warm – like he was his mate as would be seen in the wolf world hierarchy. Newt stayed still, forcing his stiff, abused muscles to relax into the other’s form, praying that he wouldn’t be eaten, bitten or scratched at some point during the night. He wasn’t sure just how long Percival would actually be left in this state but such a sudden wave of exhaustion and pain-fuelled lethargy washed over him that he didn’t much care right then. He was sore, humiliated, utterly drained and in a great deal of pain. If his fate was to be eaten by his partner in his sleep then so be it as long as the werewolf didn’t wake him up to do so. Any peace sounded good right about now. 

His sleep-slipping mind floated momentarily to Gellert and where and what he was doing but whether he was lying dead in a pool of blood or completely healed and fleeing, Newt didn’t know or much care – he was reasonably sure that the wizard couldn’t get past the Graves-family blood bound locks and seals on the door. But even if he did, there wasn’t much more he could do to Newt at this point. Percival could clearly take care of himself if Gellert’s earlier behaviour was any gauge and as Newt drifted further away, he couldn’t help but smile at being wrapped in the comforting warmth of someone who wasn’t going to try to make him feel better about it all with words. That the simple contact and scent was all that the wolf Percival would and could offer.

He wasn’t sure when he actually fell asleep at his transformed partner’s side but when he woke up hours later it was to the sound of the cell door clicking open, he jerked under the heavy, hot weight that lay atop him, trying to see toward the door and prepare himself for whoever came through it. However, his panic overrode him as he found that he couldn’t move and that there was a very naked, very confining man pinning him down and despite knowing that it was likely only Percival, his muddled mind couldn’t quite believe with any degree of certainty that it was that simple. There had been too many tricks and impersonations for that. He flailed, struggling out from under the other, stinging hands meeting the cold stone and scrambling up the wall away from where Percival’s sleepy, bloodshot eyes were blinking over at him in confusion. It could’ve been the receding presence of the crimson shade of the runes carved into the floor upon which they rested but Newt could’ve sworn that there was a copper tone to Percival’s skin, a fiery colour that shimmered and shook until he blinked and it simmered down again. 

“Newt?” he yawned, stifling the motion with one hand, eyes widening as he took in both their naked forms, Newt’s obvious panic and then he jolted as if shocked when Newt suspected he remembered the night before. He scrambled up too, eyes cautious, haunted and hard, looking at Newt with a hand held out in supplication in a similar way that Newt had the night before. When he spoke again, his voice was almost as hoarse as Newt’s strangled tones. “Jesus! Oh sweet Christ, Newt, I’m sorry, I-”

He stopped when Newt began shaking his head and paused, clearly waiting for the younger man to interrupt but Newt couldn’t seem to stop shaking, neither his head nor the full-body tremors that rippled through him. Newt tore his eyes away from Percival, trying to focus on something bland and blank to calm himself down but instead, his eyes found the stockings and garters still encasing his trembling legs. The Magizoologist found himself irrationally angry at them still being there, after everything else had been so thoroughly stripped away from him. He tore at the flimsy material, accidentally snapping himself with the elastic of the material as he rid himself of both in quick succession, fingers numbly still pulling at them, shredding and unravelling in an insentient frenzy. He only stopped when he felt warm, trembling hands on his own, freezing his movements and Newt could only focus on the image of the split skin on Percival’s slightly knobbly looking knuckles, the prominent veins against his wrist the way his thumb was running softly over the edge of Newt’s.

Newt’s breath began to speed up again, eyes hazing in and out of focus on the image before he slid down the wall, back down to the ground with a low cry and a hiss as all of his aches and agonies flared up at once in protest. Percival followed him down, crouched slightly further down the sloped floor and eyes careful on him, searching and pitying, it hurt to look at and Newt fixed his eyes back on his own bare feet instead. He almost wished the beast Percival back, the one that couldn’t burn him with knowing looks and sympathetic, insufficient words – for him to give the same sort of comfort that Newt always sought from creatures. An acknowledgement of pain or distress through simple contact and scent but no overly painful attempts to right what they couldn’t. Simply being there. He wanted to say something, to explain it but then he remembered the open cell door, head jerking over to where the entrance stood empty, no sign of anyone there and thankfully though suspiciously, no Gellert. 

“It's timed to release and open automatically when the sun rises, bit of a failsafe in case the…um occupant isn’t feeling up to getting six-inch steel open.” Percival explained and Newt nodded absently, attempting to get his legs up under him and succeeding after a few stumbling steps, wincing as he felt something sticky and damp crack and drip down his thighs in thin trails, the movement splitting open broken skin and things he didn’t want to think about.

“Newt? Newt? Where do you think you’re going?” Percival was scrambling up stiffly, equally though differently pained as he followed Newt out the door and both grimaced as they began the climb back to the main house. 

“Gellert,” came Newt’s soft reply and Percival’s dark brows furrowed but he hastened to follow closer, hovering at Newt’s heels despite the pain and stiffness running through both men, after the first ten steps, Newt glanced over his shoulder and noticed the equal parts determination and pain in Percival’s face, in every line of his bare body and reached out a careful hand. Percival jolted in slight shock as his eyes slid from the steps straight to Newt when the Magizoologist’s hand touched his bare shoulder and Newt encouraged the man to lean on him, returning the support and as they continued to climb, they ended up helping each other, acting as mutual supports.

Not a word passed between them until they were just nearing the top of the winding staircase and Percival finally spoke, panting a little in deep breaths that shook both. His dark eyes coaxing Newt’s to meet and the Magizoologist did so only as the Auror spoke, “What do you want to do with him? I mean, if he is up there still. You tried to kill him but then you stopped me. Would you rather be the one to do it?”

Newt hesitated before he responded softly, looking away, “I honestly don’t know. He deserves it. This is probably the first time I could say that of anyone or anything but…” he paused, again searching for words to properly express how he felt about it without adding to the encroaching stress lines wrinkling Percival’s forehead. “I feel as if killing him wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t stop me being scared or paranoid or make me feel any sort of justice had been done. Even if he was dead the things he’d done would just go away with him. I don’t think adding another death to all this would be the solution it would seem to be.” 

“You don’t have to be responsible, you know. You could just leave it to me and it would be over quick,” Percival offered, eyes hard and furious but also curious.

“I’d still feel as if I were,” Newt murmured, stepping hesitantly out into the corridor and glancing up to the stairs before holding out a hand, summoning two sets of clothing to him, passing shirt and trousers on before painfully slipping on his own. He could feel the awful mess staining his thighs still and without looking down, he cast a nonverbal cleaning spell that left his skin tingling and feeling as if he had been scoured clean with a firm wired brush, something dark but bright flashing behind his eyes as he did so. It was better than the disgusting, cloying feeling however and as he gingerly fastened both trousers and shirt, he let out a soft, hoarse sigh that caught in his throat as he registered a strong whiff of juniper from the shirt and noted how it was that bit too finely made and was a bit short and loose on him. Newt shuddered but not having any other alternatives than the one that had been summoned to him, he simply left the stolen garment be on his trembling shoulders. 

“Newt…is there another reason why you want him to live?” As Newt turned sharply, he could tell that Percival regretted the words the moment that they left his mouth, the Auror almost cringing but stubbornly not backtracking.

Newt sighed, understanding the reasoning behind the question after what Percival had witnessed. “I…I told Gellert the same thing I’ll tell you. I want to be honest in this.” He took a breath, glancing around before continuing in a sedated, dull tone that took most of his energy to maintain “I feel…different when I’m with him. You were sort of right when you said he would change me. I’m scared of what I’m like and you…” he swallowed thickly, sorely “-you saw what I did, how I reacted and as much as I’d like to blame it solely upon him, I can't ignore my agency in this. It wouldn’t be fair.” His expression hardened as he met Percival’s gaze directly “I don’t want to be with him. I pity him, maybe, I understand more than I ever wanted to and I…find him attractive…can't ignore that damn allure that brings in all his followers and Albus, as much as I try. But I don’t want him.”

He reached forward and gripped Percival’s hand softly, fully ready to release him if the Auror withdrew. Thankfully he didn’t as Newt finished “I love you. I want to be with you and I want Gellert out of both of our lives. I never want to think of him as a real thing ever again. Him being dead would make him more real to me. Him being locked up, away from me and you and everything…that would let me…let me move on, I think…as much as that's ever likely to happen, that is.”

“I…I think I understand.” Percival spoke slowly, stilting as he began the customary rubbing of his thumb over Newt’s where their hands joined between them. “After-…after seeing…after feeling all of this I understand. I get it, Newt, I really do and I’m sorry…I’m so sorry that this happened to you again and that I didn’t stop it but…” his scarred lips cracked into a slight smile “I think I should thank you.” at Newt’s questioning look he clarified “For getting me loose, for getting to the cell and calming me down so that I didn’t hurt you.”

Newt’s lips twitched up too, deadened eyes shimmering with a teasing look “I was meaning to say something about that actually – what bloody kind of werewolf are you that you cuddle up with your dinner instead of eating it?”

Percival chuckled slightly, cheeks colouring very slightly in an adorable manner “Well I uh…I believe it may have been because I – my wolf side, that is – recognised you as what I thought of as being my mate.” Newt’s slight smile was bemused and teasing and Percival froze for a few moments before glowering “And you knew that anyway didn’t you? You just wanted me to say it aloud.”

“Well I suspected…it hasn’t been a very well documented thing for werewolves and human to couple up with any great degree of success. It usually results in one or the other being killed or changed.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, glad of the distraction from the darkness lingering at the edges of his current path of thought. “But in the non-magical animal kingdom, wolves recognise their partners by scent above anything else. I suppose you must’ve recognised something familiar about me. You seemed to regret hurting me almost as soon as you did it.”

Percival nodded “I remember it all…I remember my instincts telling me to keep you safe once I recognised it was you. I think even in that state I was trying to keep Grindelwald away from you.”

“Well, maybe it's me who should be thanking you then,” Newt replied before nodding toward the closed door down the hall from them, the entrance dark and feeling like a barrier between one state and the next. “We should probably deal with whatever is left to deal with here first.”

Percival nodded, hand going instinctively toward his sleeve where his wand would usually be kept before a scowl flashed across his face “If we aren’t going to kill him is there anything you’d particularly be against in the realms of bodily harm?”

Newt snorted slightly and moved forward to open the door even as Percival’s expression remained black and dangerous. The Magizoologist opened the door with little hesitation, his capacity for anticipation somewhat worn thin by this point and he couldn’t say that he was entirely surprised by the sight that greeted him.

Albus – a familiar midnight blue-robed form over a neat three-piece grey suit – was crouched over a limp Gellert, the man dressed once more though in something close to his usual attire and the wound on his neck slowly sealing itself shut under the ministrations of the Elder Wand. The dark wizard was thankfully bound, chains clamped around his wrists and ankles and though his eyes were open and aware, he was silent and sullen as he watched Dumbledore work. His white-blonde head was laid back against the cushions of the chaise from where he sat on the floor and Albus’ non-wand hand was resting lightly though clearly warningly upon his collarbone as he worked the magic to heal the slit skin and muscle. Gellert’s eyes, of course, rose to meet Newt’s the second he stepped into the room and while he didn’t try to move, a slender smile pulled up the corners of his lips.

Albus made sure to finish the line of invisible magic stitches before he turned his head to look at the newcomers “I thought it best to give you some privacy.”

“What are you doing here? How in the hell did you get in?” Percival’s voice was habitually aggressive toward Dumbledore as he stepped forward, hand flexing at his side repeatedly as if vying between the urge to fist it and strike someone or splayed to attempt wandless magic. Newt quickly came up behind him and pressed a soothing hand to the knots of his shoulder, he relaxed a fraction but still glared between both men, anger and tension vibrating off of him in tangible waves.

Albus, for his part, remained unmoved though there was a tightness around his eyes and brows that signalled a deeper disquiet and Newt was unsurprised to think that the man knew everything that had occurred. The blue of his eyes brighter and almost leaking onto the lines of his face in their intensity. He silently held the Elder Wand aloft for Percival to see and the American snorted derisively, irritably. “Of course. Damn unbeatable wand must be useful for arriving too damn late to do anything useful.” 

“Percy.” Newt admonished quietly and Percival shot him a warning look and for once, Newt heeded it, too tired in every way to attempt to quell the Auror’s rage – it was thoroughly justified after all.

Albus brushed off his knees as he stood, stepping between the chained Grindelwald and the two thoroughly abused men. His too bright blue eyes zeroed in particularly upon Newt’s injured hand where he was cradling it against his stomach, the blood, both dried and the thin trail of fresh soaking into the unintentionally pilfered shirt. He stepped forward and despite himself, Newt jerked back a step, hand leaving Percival’s shoulder and instead, gripping the arm of the chair behind him, blunt nails pressing sharp indents into the wood. His breathing picked up and despite knowing that Albus was not a threat and that Gellert was chained and silent on the floor, his vision began to shimmer with a haze of dizzying colours again. It was almost like it had been after…after that first time and Newt had been nearing blindness but for the blur of colour, however, these colours were more cohesive, they weren’t a blur but more a haze around each person in the room.

For instance, Gellert came as a deep navy colour, veined through strongly with black and silver; rich, dark, complex and conflicted.

Albus, a lighter azure, tracing along the edges with violet sparks – something cool, clear but tainted with power and mystery.

And when Newt turned his head to glance confusedly at Percival, he saw a deep amber colour, almost copper-toned with elements of a familiar mahogany bleeding though. It was a warm palette, strong and metallic, hardened but softer and more conductive than the silvery steel of Gellert’s aura.

Newt’s wide eyes turned down to his own hand and saw that he too had developed some sort of glow, There were traces of a similarly copper tone to Percival’s though glowing slightly brighter, more like gold but the predominant colour was of a deep forest green. There was a hint of silver running alongside the gold veins like an infection that flickered and festered in amongst the other colours, shading and tinting in vibrant spirals around his limbs. Newt blinked hard, reaching up with his uninjured hand to rub at his eyes, wondering if one too many blows to the head and attempts to strangle and traumatise him had finally caused his mind to snap. Enough so that he was seeing an odd tone of shining colour around every person in the room.

“Newt?” Albus’ voice was cautious, strained and his eyes were wary, staying where he was and the Magizoologist nodded, attempting to ignore how the azure haze pulsed and shimmered distractingly around the elder wizard’s face. “Will you let me assist you with your wounds?”

Newt breathed in once before exhaling again, slowly releasing his death grip on the chair behind him and stepping forward, holding out his perforated hand to Dumbledore who winced sympathetically, sending a disapproving glare over his shoulder before setting into the patterns of healing and knitting together more ruined flesh. With the Elder Wand and Dumbledore’s no doubt practised healing skills, the gash was soon sealed and with only a vague crawling, tingling light blue sensation itching the centre of his palm to evidence it ever being there. Albus’ aura glowed more with purple as he attempted to meet Newt’s eyes who was trying very hard not to look directly at the face of anyone in the room in an attempt to keep his dwindling focus in check. 

“Is there anything else I can help with?” Newt could feel the attention flicking from his neck where bruises and bites still circled the tender skin down his chest where the partially unbuttoned shirt revealed the top of the heart-scar and then awkwardly, mortifyingly, lower. He went to shake his head, unwilling to have his mentor and perhaps oldest friend witness his debasement all over again in intimate detail by having to heal the internal damage and more possessive marks of Gellert’s latest assault. He’d take care of it himself when he could. But then he paused in the refute when he thought of the scars on his heart – the literal ones – and turned the shake to a nod, numb, nimble fingers moving to unbutton the shirt a little more, revealing the puckered white star of a scar. Albus’ brows furrowed in question and reached out to brush curious fingers over the mark before pausing just above the shivering chest, raising a brow for permission until Newt nodded jerkily and allowed the contact.

“How was this made?” Albus asked, two fingers pressing gingerly around the edges of the scar and Newt grimaced but oddly didn’t feel too much pain, he supposed that the phoenix tears must’ve done their job. 

“Knife – the same one you two used to take the bond out of me, I think.” Albus’ head jerked around to look at Gellert who was smiling wanly and at the accusing gaze he merely shrugged, manacles clinking slightly on his wrists where they lay in his lap, one leg stretched out casually and the other brought up.

“How deep was it and how is it that it is now healed?” came the sharp follow-up questions

“He carved something into my heart, angled the blade to scrape it.” He forced his tone steady but he couldn’t help the flashes of agonised memory from flaring up behind his eyes, souring his green-silver-copper colour with flashes of alarming crimson. He clenched his hands at his side reflexively even as Albus’ hand withdrew and he instead began to wave the Elder Wand over it in testing, tentative patterns. “It was healed by Phoenix tears.”

“Credence’s or Fawkes’?”

Newt blinked, gritting his teeth against the fiery tingling sensation running through his heart and bloodstream but biting out his question nonetheless “Credence, I think but how did you know about that?”

Albus didn’t look up from his work and spoke in a distracted tone as he worked seemingly complex and invasive spells over Newt’s wound, apparently attempting to seek out the runes carved into his heart and likely the purpose of them too. “He came to me several times during his free periods. He felt understandably conflicted about his changing form and his magic and claimed he still wanted my help and advice, so I provided it. I was, however, unaware that he was in contact with Gellert too and that he had taken up semi-permanent residence within your case. He came to me in quite a state and warned me of what had occurred here.”

“He’s been _what_?” Percival’s exclamation had Newt wincing slightly 

Newt floundered a little as remembered that Percival knew nothing of Credence’s location, state or where he had been. He rubbed a hand over the back of his head and explained “I’m sorry, I had just managed to convince him to let me tell you but…things-” his eyes flickered over to Gellert who raised one chained hand in a jovial mock-salute “-got in the way.”

“And how long have you been aware of this exactly?” The Aurors’ tone was patient though strained.

“Only since just after you left the safehouse after we…talked. I climbed up the cliff to check on the phoenix and found Credence. He can take a phoenix form too now.” He smiled a little proudly, fondly and Percival looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes but resisted the temptation only due to the grim circumstances. 

“Of course he can.” The Auror scoffed “I suppose that I should call off the hunt for him when we get back to New York then.”

“We?” Newt quoted curiously and this time Percival really did roll his eyes.

“If I’m to call off three international manhunts it might help if you were there to at least make a statement. You don’t have to tell anyone what happened here – just to show your face and as a secondary witness that that” a jab of his thumb angrily toward Grindelwald “is actually imprisoned again.” He turned eyes of simmering red-hot copper and coals to Dumbledore “That is what you’re planning to do with him I suppose? Lock him up and keep him down. Unless you’re willing to finally admit that he’s better off dead.”

Albus blinked, having seemingly been lost in a trance of his investigative spells and turned with a deep frown to glance between all three watching men “Yes, yes, that is my intention. To restrain him again, that is. He shouldn’t be able to use Newt as an escape anymore or make any connection past what has already been done.”

“And what has been done?” Newt asked, voice low and tense, buttoning up the shirt again as Dumbledore stepped back looking weary. The teacher stared at Gellert for a long few moments, the latter making a silent ‘all-yours’ gesture with raised brows and Albus sighed resignedly, both turning back to face Newt. Gellert with an almost blissful smile upon his face and Albus with exhaustion and dejectedness though also a hint of wonder sparking the violet surrounding him all the brighter.

“Gellert has given all his magic to you.”

Newt stared.

“That was what the carvings to your heart did.”

Newt stared.

“But he did magic after doing that!” Percival protested and though Newt didn’t turn to look at him he could imagine the copper glowing brighter about him.

He heard a sigh from Albus as the azure faded slightly “It would have taken some time to take effect, any magic he did do would have only quickened the process of draining it into Newt.”

“But why?” Percival cried and Newt couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the beaming Grindelwald whose eyes were soft and coaxing.

“That, I cannot say,” Albus replied before his gaze snapped over to Gellert and his head tilted for a few moments before he nodded subtly and spoke by way to translation for the conspicuously silent dark wizard “He…he says that if he is destined to be apart from his magic for the remainder of his life then he at least wants it to go to one that might make a little mischief and use of it.” He paused before managing to grit out “A final gift…and an apology.” His expression morphed into one of disgust and anger and he rounded on Gellert again “I am not saying that. You gave your excuses now-”

“Tell me what he said.” Newt spoke wearily, eyes finally moving from Gellert to Albus, focussing on the angry azure haze until his eyes blurred.

“He said that…he wants a part of him to…always be inside of you.” The words sounded positively painful.

Newt nodded numbly, stepping around Albus and looking down at Gellert with utter blankness before he crouched and looked the dark wizard directly in the eyes, taking in the fulness and complexity of the haze surrounding him. There was a temptation to hurt him then, nothing stopping him but he didn’t. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of the violence nor the emotion and simply said. “I don’t care if your magic is in me. I’m not going to see you ever again. I don’t care what happens to you now. It is my hope that you will never be my problem or anyone’s other than Albus’ ever again.”

He stood, turning his back upon all of them and left the room, feeling his scarred heart thumping hard against his ribcage and his sight wavering as he ascended the stairs. He went to where his case still thankfully resided upon the desk in the closest bedroom, purposefully not looking at the blood-stained sheets, torn yellow silk and the stained blade that littered the room. Newt paused at the cases’ entrance, inhaling sharply before descending stiffly into it with scant few groans of discomfort. When he reached solid ground he was quick to stumble over to his bed, snagging an all too familiar vial from under his mattress, he rolled it between his fingers, eying the dark liquid, knowing the taste of peppermint and off-alcohol from the almost constant taste of it after his fall so long ago. He knew it would numb everything he felt pushing and pulling on him, the strum of energy within him that he found much disquieting now that he knew it was the flow of Grindelwald’s magical essence adding and trying to combine with his own.

But then again, Percival would be around to notice him dosing himself into oblivion this time around. He felt no inclination to run like before: he wanted to be close to Percival and didn’t fear it. He didn’t fear the intimacy and there were no lingering remnants of trauma that were overwhelming him – he remembered it but it did not control him. He supposed that enough prolonged exposure to the insanity and abuse was inevitably going to force him to reach a point of either solidifying or breaking. And he didn’t want to break.

He felt strong.

Despite his physical and mental infirmities, he felt…grounded. Sure in Percival’s acceptance of all he had admitted, had sensed the truth of the acceptance from his love’s aura – whatever that truly was. The main thing he felt was a combination of sullied relief and exhaustion. He sat there, staring down at the vial for a long time before he heard footsteps on the wooden slats of the shed’s floor and familiar pair of shiny black shoes stepped forward. He smiled wanly.

“What are you planning to do with that?” Percival asked, hands in pockets and a non-judgmental look on his face though the copper tone shone still. “And are you willing to share?”

Newt snorted before tossing it one-handed to Percival, the Auror caught it and moved to sit upon the bed next to him but halted as a stirring, irritable Occamy hissed up at him. Newt held out a coaxing hand and the serpentine creature curled itself up his arm to then wrap around his shoulders, draping like a scarf and nuzzling briefly against his neck before nipping his shoulder blade. The Occamy was soon settled asleep in a subtle, pulsing turquoise glow and Percival sat on the vacated spot with the vial held in his hands.

“Get rid of it.”

“You sure?” Percival quirked an eyebrow “I mean, if it helps...” he left the implication hanging there and Newt shook his head softly.

“I managed to get myself off it before and I don’t want it now. I’m taking that as a good sign.” 

“Newt...” Percival paused, clearly hesitant “I know everything that happened up there. I felt what he felt because of how he connected us.” Darkness swept across his face again and his colours grew brighter. “I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t be surprised if you...needed something...you know, for the pain and...and what he did, what he said to you. I won’t stop you but I want you to know that I’ll be here every step of the way.”

“I suspected as much,” Newt muttered, and it was true but it didn’t mean that the confirmation of his fears didn’t sting. “But really, Percy, I don’t need it. I know what he did and I’m sorry that you had to...had to witness that but I don’t think numbing myself into oblivion will help me get better. It’ll become a crutch and I need to deal with this on my strength alone.” He hated mirroring Gellert’s words but knew that there was some truth in them as he smiled weakly at Percival. “I still want you with me. That hasn’t changed. I still love you and I don’t think I’ve got any more ability to dwell on what that bastard has done to me. I’m tapped out on that front. I want to move past this. Not forget – I know that doesn’t help anything - but just move on.”

He reached out and gently stroked Percival’s wounded cheek, his scarred lip and smiled. “Will you help me do that?”

“Of course. Anything you need.”

“Thank you, Percival.”

The kiss they shared was short but sweet and Newt was further relieved when no flashes of images or stars flickered behind his eyes, no change of the tone that shone brightly even through his closed lids, the copper tone warm and comforting. There were no tricks here. It was reassuring.

When Percival leaned back it was with at a hiss as the Occamy wrapping Newt’s slender shoulders hissed and pecked at him where he had been pressing the creature’s body too hard into Newt with the contact and he smiled abashedly, holding up hands in mock surrender. Newt caught one by his wrist and thought he would try something he usually would’ve been pretty rubbish at. He passed a hand over Percival’s, letting some of the bubbling energy within him leak out in a healing aura that appeared in a sunshine tinted golden-white glow as the cracked knuckles, singed and strained skin healed itself. He smiled, moving his hand over Percival’s other hand and feeling his grin widen as the magic followed his intent and washed in a huge shining wave over the Auror, and though most of him was covered, Newt saw the tension and strain in his posture, muscles and expression ease significantly. The American let out a gasp and raised surprised eyes to meet Newt’s.

The Magizoologist shrugged “If I’m going to have his magic then I may as well use it for something good.”

“Just don’t start another damn ‘greater good’ cult and I won’t be complaining.”

“See that you don’t.” Newt responded with a weakly teasing glimmer to his eyes before he sobered slightly and ventured “Percy, I’m going to ask you something and I’d really prefer it if you didn’t overreact.” 

Percival sighed, elbows dropping forward to rest on his knees as he pressed both hands to his face wearily “That’s my cue to start accepting some new level of depraved Grindelwald-related bullshit, isn’t it?”

Newt shook his head “No, well, actually sort of, well... I don’t actually know if this _is_ his fault or not but I-”

“Just ask, Newt.”

“You couldn’t see that magic, could you?”

“How’d you mean? I felt it and I saw you moving your hands about.” Dark brows furrowed further as he lowered his hands to clasp them atop his knees instead.

“No colour?” Newt pressed

“No…” said Percival slowly

“Ah, right then.” 

“Was I supposed to? Usually, you only get light or colour with a spell if its wandcast.”

“I know that.” Newt sighed before elaborating “Since I woke up earlier, I’ve been seeing people and magic in colours…like a haze or aura around each of you that changes a bit with your moods and magic.”

Percival’s eyes widened and he paused for some time before asking “And what does my…aura look like then?”

Newt smiled fondly as the aura in question brightened stronger with traces of mahogany-copper. Once he got past how distracting it all was it was really rather beautiful, casting his love’s features in a coppery warm glow. “Sort of a slightly reddish-brown I think, like mahogany and copper. Reminds me of one of the Thestrals from back home – Wardwing.”

“Well…alright then.” Percival managed and Newt snorted slightly, nudging the Auror’s arm lightly

“It suits you, though. Makes you seem…safer…more…_you_.”

Percival looked confused at first before realisation dawned upon him and he wrapped an arm loosely around Newt’s waist, careful this time of the coiled Occamy on his neck. “Does it bother you?”

Newt considered that “No. I mean, it’s a little distracting but it makes it…easier to see things how they are.” 

“Then it doesn’t bother me either.” Percival said decisively and Newt smiled appreciatively. He wasn’t sure if this accommodating attitude would last but he appreciated it, nonetheless.

“I imagine your mum isn’t going to be too happy about all the mess, I rather think we should make some effort to clean up before we leave.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He replied flippantly before amending “although it may hurt me when she does find out.”

“Best avoid that then, eh?” Newt chuckled slightly but his eyes were serious as he stood up and stretched, hearing his bones crack slightly and moaning softly as his sore muscles and throbbing lower regions protested profusely. He looked around the shed for a pain tonic or some herbs he could chew on before realising that he’d already used up the last of his useful stock.

“Is there anything I can do?” Percival asked, pausing and looking back at Newt from where he was standing at the foot of the ladder. Newt was tempted to refuse as he had done with Dumbledore before a thought struck him and he gasped aloud, eyes going wide as he pressed a hand to his forehead, rubbing it crossly over his nose and mouth. “What? What is it?” Percival was over to him in a second and was gripping his upper arms in clear concern.

“Gellert’s magic. It can’t be used on me.”

Comprehension dawned on the Auror's face “So what does that mean now that it's inside you? Surely by simply just being there, it’s being used.”

“I don’t know. But I think that this may be Gellert's way of getting out of the unbreakable vow. It should be impossible but then again, so should magic like this.” He said, pressing a hand to the scar over his thrumming heart.

“But what will it actually mean? Have you tried any magic on yourself yet?”

“No.” Newt replied, brows furrowing before he decided “I need to see their arms. The burn marks. To see if either has spread. If they’re even still there...”

Percival nodded and gestured for Newt to go up the ladder before him and both men were quick though uncomfortable to exit the case and go down the stairs. Newt banged the door open to the dining room, barely taking in the cleanliness or tidiness of the previously bloody and wrecked room. All he focussed upon was that both elder wizards were still there and Albus turned sharply to face them, frowning as Newt approached so intently, holding out a hand. “Your arm. I need to see your arm.”

Though looking slightly puzzled, Albus did as asked and rolled up both sleeves, holding out bare forearms to the younger man. One blank and pale, scattered with light gingery-brown hair and the other twisted with rapidly fading scars. Bright blue and tainted-green zeroed in on the marked arm with alarm and Albus swiftly rounded on Gellert who was now sat upon the chaise, draped out like a particularly gothic, lazy cat. “For the love of-...Gellert, what have you done now?”

The wizard in question shrugged, grinning as Albus stepped forward and pulled up his sleeve too, revealing equally fading burns though his were doing so more slowly as they had been considerably angrier than Dumbledore’s. Albus paused for some time, obviously listening to the other man's mental communication before he relayed the knowledge to Percival and Newt as they stood, tense in their united apprehension. “The unbreakable vow was rendered null by some incredibly dark, intricate, long-forgotten magic that I had no knowledge of. When he transferred his magic to you it made it so that Gellert’s magic and your own was mingled, enough so that it became something new. Unique if you will.” He sighed heavily “Half the magic of the original casters was rendered unrecognisable – as if Gellert had died.” His voice was bitter as he summarised “Essentially, neither of us are held to the vow any longer.” He shot an impressed, furious look over his shoulder, turning to half-face his former partner “You managed to break an unbreakable vow. Only you, Gellert, only you would’ve managed something like this.” Albus was shaking his head disbelievingly but Newt could see the old awe in him, the impressed boy shining in bright blue, sparks of the violet reaching out unconsciously toward the silver of Gellert’s smirking face.

“But what exactly were the parameters of this vow in the first place?” Percival asked, expression decidedly suspicious.

“The part that you were aware of was that Gellert could no longer use magic on Newt but that he was allowed visiting privileges. The part that we agreed to keep a secret was that I was not to challenge him until his visions had come to fruition and in return, he would not kill any of those close to myself or Newt. It was not a deal I was entirely satisfied with but as I’m sure you can understand, dealing at all came as a distinct...difficulty.” The violet strains were stronger now, lining Albus’ temples and flecking his bright eyes.

“What about the magic? Can I use it safely if it’s...melded with my own?” Newt asked, “I mean, I have already just not on myself directly.”

Albus nodded “As it is a new form of magic, I would advise sensible caution as with all matters but I believe that you shan’t suffer any ill effects from using it upon either yourself or others.” He paused, eyes flickering back to Gellert before he said: “It might warrant performing some now just in case I am mistaken as we would be in a better position to rectify matters rather than if you found trouble at a later date.”

Newt nodded, considering for a moment before he raised a hand to his collarbone, where the Deathly Hallows mark lay still branded upon him after all this time and let his will seep out into his skin once more, feeling the dark magic and possessive branding almost as if the mark was his own working. It was disconcerting but as he felt the magic he also knew how to better unravel it where others’ magic had failed to do so, he grasped on the end of the dark thread and pulled, unwinding it faster and faster until it spooled in his hand. A visible – to him at least – mess of magical yarn and he stood, staring at his outstretched hand for a few entranced, slightly disturbed moments before he released it. It fluttered in the air before darting back and seeping into him, disappearing into his scar where the runes resided beneath. He gasped, feeling the magic slowly dissipate back into him and settling indolently alongside his own with the rest of the foreign power but when he looked down at where the Deathly Hallows brand had resided, he found himself grinning to see it gone.

Percival stepped closer to him, drawing Newt’s attention as he stroked a curious, almost awed finger down the smooth, pale, freckled skin and Newt flushed slightly both at the contact and at the realisation that the Auror had never seen that area unblemished before. Never seen it before Grindelwald’s attacks. “Well, I guess that settles that then.” He murmured and Newt nodded, blushing further before nodding his over Percival’s broad shoulders at Gellert who was looking decidedly less pleased with himself than before and Albus who was inspecting a loose thread on the sleeve of his opulent robes. Percival rolled his eyes but stepped back. “Looks healed and Newt hasn’t spontaneously combusted yet so I think it’s time for _you_ to get him _out of here_.” His tone was brusque as he stared Dumbledore down in what Newt thought was really an unnecessarily aggressive alpha male manner but then again, the man had only been a fully-fledged werewolf less than a few hours before. “Now.”

Albus inclined his head in Percival’s direction politely “As you wish, Director Graves. I shall likely see you in the next few weeks anyway after I have secured him as I’m sure that your department will want further proof of Gellert’s security arrangements, no doubt.” He turned to Newt with a much softer look “I would recommend resting as much as you can for a stretch, Newt, and please, do try to keep out of trouble.”

“I’ll do my best.” Newt replied with a soft, rather fragile smile.

“Oh and I almost forgot, on account of my joint efforts to tutor and guard Credence over the last year or so, I thought to keep tabs upon Miss Goldstein – Tina – and thought you might appreciate knowing that both she and your nephew are quite safe. Your brother saw the value in requesting assistance from me for the purposes of safe houses for his family, though I will say that he was rather reluctant to do so.” He dug into the pocket of his robes and handed Newt a folded sheaf of charmed parchment, it glowed with a subtle azure magic but also with a pale rose coloured hue that reminded Newt fondly of Tina in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Albus paused before tapping a finger on the sheaf of paper and adding with a somewhat abashed smile “I also took the liberty of sorting out some accommodation for you that I believe you may find suitable. It’s something I have been working on for some time but have only finalised upon more recently.”

Newt smiled bemusedly and took it, stowing it in his pocket with a promise to himself that he would visit both and help in any way he could.

“Thank you, Albus.”

“None of that,” Dumbledore admonished crisply, though Newt could see the regret and anguish seeping through him, oozing in waves that slicked his aura and soaked his sight of him, the violet sparks growing ever stronger. They were still wrapping and flickering in amongst Gellert’s and as Albus pulled the man to his feet by an arm, Newt noticed how the stiff grip softened a fraction, fingers curling and kneading just slightly into the other man’s arm. It was oddly both comforting and disconcerting to witness. Newt made no comment as Albus gave the room a cursory sweep with his eyes, but then Dumbledore made no move to stop Gellert when he stepped toward Newt with a hand outstretched, swiftly snatching Newt’s wrist and pressing his lips to Newt’s fingertips. The Magizoologist was breaking away before the motion was even complete but Percival’s fist was faster; it slammed hard into the man’s jaw first, resulting in a satisfying crack before Percival followed up swiftly by breaking his nose in spectacularly bloody fashion and then, as the dark wizard staggered, bringing his knee up hard into Grindelwald’s crotch. Gellert fell to his knees with an open-mouthed exclamation of mute pain, eyes watering, nose crooked and bloody and a red mark already forming on his jaw. His hands hovered over his no- doubt suffering family jewels as Percival glared down at him.

“You don’t touch him. _Never again_.”

The words were low and calm until the last two, which were hissed in such a way that promised more violence if Gellert so much as twitched wrong. Albus wasted no time in nodding to both hurriedly, reaffirming his grip on the suffering wizard’s arm and wisely pulling him from the room before a crack of apparation could be heard. Newt could see the temptation to follow and inflict more aggression flowing strongly through the strengthened ruddy veins in Percival's aura and he was quick to step forward, wrapping both of his arms around Percival’s broad, tremoring shoulders and holding him tighter than he ever remembered doing.

“It’s alright. It’s okay, it’s all gonna be fine…” Newt’s words blurred into one another as he buried his face, his stinging eyes and smarting cheeks and lips into Percival’s shirt-clad shoulder, burrowing into the woody-hue that burned through his eyelids even when they were pressed tight shut. He wasn’t aware of when he started crying but his tears soaked into the crumpled material he was submerged in. He felt Percival’s warm hand bury itself in his curls, combing through them in rough, desperate, caring motions that had shaking harder. Percival wasn’t trying to hush him like Gellert would’ve, but simply brushing strong fingers through his unruly locks and being a solid, warm, familiar smelling anchor. Like when he was in his beast-form. Maybe he’d noticed. Maybe he’d learnt. Or maybe he was just being Percival.

They only parted when Newt’s aching legs threatened to give out and he sent a jolt of bolstering, healing magic out through himself in a silver-black flash that not only alleviated his more superficial aches but sent a rehabilitating effect through both men. Percival jumped slightly against him and drew back to look at Newt in surprise but also with odd traces of gratitude and something closer to apprehension. “I do believe that you just managed to do what a team of practised healers, myself and about a dozen different healing potions over the course of years couldn’t.”

The Auror snorted in disbelief and tugged up his shirt, revealing the webbing of scars on his side that had been inflicted during his captivity, or rather, where it had been. It was both astonishing and intoxicating to see the effect that so much magic could have in healing the man he loved and the scars he secretly despised in himself. He could understand just how Albus or Gellert could’ve gotten cocky and drunk on power like this. It wasn’t just Gellert’s power though, it was the addition of it to Newt’s already substantial powers. He had never been any more powerful than the average wizard, but he had had the advantage of an…alternative education in the control and use of his powers. It had been directed more towards Herbology, healing, transfiguration and protective charms as they had been the ones that proved most useful in dealing with and helping magical creatures.

But to have the capacity to heal and help without the exhaustion and power-based limitations that came with being of a more average ability…well, it was exciting and it scared him. Newt had seen what power like that could do to people, just thinking of the bloody history of the Elder Wand alone…it was rather intimidating to think that a comparable power resided in him as a _gift _from Gellert Grindelwald himself. Not an honour or foot up to him like it would’ve been to one of his fanatics or a Ministry bureaucrat. He would in all honesty rather be rid of it but he knew that this sort of magic would not and could not simply wash away. And Newt didn’t fancy going through any more convoluted, dark, dangerous magic rituals or deals with the devil to try to rid himself of it.

No, better that he had it and used it sparingly and only for the benefit of his creatures and those in need rather than leave it with Gellert. Even if the man had it but was magically bound, there would still always be a chance that he could escape and use that power for the same things he always did. It was better that Grindelwald never felt that magic…or Newt…ever again. Newt could do that to atone for all the wrong he’d done, suffered and allowed. He could do it. 

**A/N – Hey people, howdy I suppose, this ain’t the last chapter as I said before, still got a chapter or two of epilogue left depending on how I pace things. Thanks so much for reading, reviewing and kudo’sing. I believe that the tag of ‘The Author regrets nothing’ and ‘The Author regrets everything’ would apply here. **

**Just as a side note to anyone interested, I’m aiming to continue writing other stuff and am hoping for prompts or suggestions of anything anyone would like to see me write, hit me up either in a review or on Tumblr at ThoseSadisticTendencies42 **


	16. A dip into the dark

**“Oh speak to me, I swear I’m listening, show me all the things I’ve been missing. **

**Let me kindly step aside and let these heavenly objects collide. Speak to me I’m finally listening. **

**And oh how easily distracted, oh how awfully we overreacted, oh how easily deceived, you’re the only one I believe. Give me something that I can believe in. **

**Oh sing to me, don’t worry there’s nobody else around. Sing to me, your voice is the only thing that calms me down… **

**…Sing to me, your song is the only thing I need right now.” – ‘Give me something’ – Devotchka**

**“Do you think you’d like me or would you turn and walk away fast if I told you from whence I came and all the sordid details of my inglorious past?**

**I’ll tell you why I’m afraid. Would you leave me for dead or would you come to my aid if I don’t tell you some pretty words, sure to keep you coming my way? **

**I never meant to lie but there are things we do and say to get by, little white lies, a small surprise how big they grow in size.**

**It all starts simple enough…in the hopes of putting air between you and the pain.**

**So grab a mask, fill up a flask and slither like a snake into the Masquerade.**

**Now, you’ve come so far and you feel like a star and you hope they never figure out who you really are.” – ‘Little white lies’ – Aurelio Voltaire **

The water went gushing over the tree stump, overwhelming it repeatedly without ever quite dislodging it from its little nook of space. It supported the weeds that grew around it and created a small pool of calm at the edge of the ever-moving waters. Newt watched it with a distant fascination, perched as he was by a rock just up the grassy bank, bare feet tingling and slightly numb from the cool water, his trousers rolled up to the knee, suspenders slipped off from his shoulders and shirt left to dry on the rock. He looked the epitome of a man relaxed and enjoying the brisk though sunny weather of the area surrounding Lake Placid. The late September cool wasn’t too bad but the following months would be cold even in comparison with the British weather he was accustomed to.

He didn’t mind it though, the various enclosures in his case and the ones situated in an underground warren below the safehouse provided enough variation in climate and scenery for him to still be able to relish in the times when he came out here to take in the spectacular view and bracing genuine conditions of upstate New York. For the purposes of not freezing or getting ill, he kept a subtle warming charm in the air around him, not too much, just enough so that he might enjoy the bracing breeze without any ill effects. The Magizoologist had been out there for most of the morning and well into the afternoon, dozing occasionally when the sun’s progress into cloudbanks allowed it but mostly, he found himself contemplating.

As one might expect, he was surrounded by creatures, ones suited to the terrain that did not warrant constant supervision; and they roamed about the grassy hillocks behind him, splashed, swam and drank from the waters and often brought him items of interest. He’d developed quite a collection of dead rabbits and birds, a few stray insects and mostly particularly interesting plants and twigs from Picket and his branch. Whilst the kills were mostly snagged back by the creatures that brought them when they saw that Newt had no interest in eating them himself, Henry and Starktail had seemed to be under the impression that he was merely being stubborn like a common kit or yearling and had worked together in quite a bizarre and uncharacteristic coupling to encourage him to eat by dropping their catches directly into his lap or hand from different sides. He had been decidedly amused and touched by the attempts and repeatedly explained as best he could to them that he wasn’t hungry but the creatures hadn’t taken no for an answer until the Magizoologist had taken another of the offerings, thankfully an apple from Dougal who had noticed his conundrum and provided a more palatable option. 

Now, however, most of the creatures had decided to retreat to either their homes or were curling up around where Newt sat and he was currently accompanied by Pickett’s branch nesting in his hair, Starktail rested upon the ground behind him, Henry on the grass beside him with his great tusked head nuzzling into Newt’s hand and Marius splashing and darting about in the deeper waters ahead of him. The rest of the creatures were settled into their habitats with the exception of the Fawkes, whom Newt had not seen since the day he left the Graves manor on the Irish Moors two weeks before. The Magizoologist had received a letter from Dumbledore three days ago that had assured him that both Credence and Fawkes had decided to stay in yet another of the teacher’s safehouses, for now, Dumbledore aiming to continue his role in Credence’s tutorage and safeguarding. He had also reassured Newt that Grindelwald was indeed secure and that, to the best of his investigations, Dumbledore had found no flaws in either the restrictions or in the process by which the dark wizard had separated himself from his magic.

It had been a somewhat mixed bag to discover that Grindelwald had retained his Seer’s ability, comforting in the idea that Newt himself wouldn’t be inheriting that particular ability but also a touch unnerving to think that Grindelwald might still be able to see his life and future even from within his imprisonment. But Newt didn’t dwell on it: this was perhaps the first time in years that Grindelwald wasn’t going to have any influence upon him and he wasn’t going to let ‘ifs’, ‘buts’ and ‘maybes’ prevent him from moving on as best he could. As much as he thought Dumbledore’s gesture of providing him with a home was unnecessarily extravagant and likely born out of guilt, he couldn’t deny that he found the place perfect.

It was a reasonably-sized building of light-toned stone and quartzite, the main house consisting of two above-ground floors, insulated and cosy against the cold weather and naturally lit by numerous windows on all sides. The front door was framed by a stained-glass arch with ornate metal carvings of trees and plants. Despite its unassuming beauty, every inch of the house had been spelled with protective magic. The crowning glory of the house, however, was the underground labyrinth of enclosures mirroring those within his case and old London house: almost every habitat he could want worked into safe, divided areas but with a natural-seeming flow between each for environments that would naturally occur together. Grassy broad plains flowing into sparkling rivers and lakes which then flowed between and in through mountains and hills riddled with cave systems and alcoves that grew into ice-capped, forested mountain ranges. There were dessert terrains that remained isolated and dry but for the occasional oasis dotting the landscape, joined by jungles that grew thick and easy to get lost in due to their size and realism. 

After spending almost an entire fortnight exploring and transferring his creatures into their new homes, he had been irrevocably struck by how much work, magic, attention and time must have gone into the labour. As much as he understood Dumbledore’s sense of culpability for all that had occurred, and Newt even partially agreed with the sentiment, he was touched by how much his former teacher had worked, even in a superficial manner, to rectify his mistakes. Not only had Dumbledore given Newt a place to rest, recuperate and collect together the scattered pieces of himself that had been pulled and shredded like so much rubble, but he had also provided a place for Newt’s creatures to truly roam and settle whilst remaining close to him. They were no longer confined to his case’s limited habitats and the deteriorating state of the luggage itself. The creatures had space to roam, and the isolated location of the house allowed them to join Newt when he left, to go as far as the protections would allow with no fear of discovery. It was perfect.

Well, nearly.

Newt appreciated that Percival had much to deal with back in New York City, what with calling off the hunts for himself, Credence and Grindelwald, and providing evidence of all three situations having been properly dealt with on top of the aftermath that the Auror was suffering through -- perhaps more so than Newt was. The Magizoologist had suffered a few bouts of familiar panic and a regular litany of nightmares since the events of the Graves manor but he had benefited from the company and reassurance of his creatures to help ground and soothe him. The Occamy with their winding and nipping, Pickett with his bolstering chirrups and even the Nifflers once succeeded in ending a panic attack by making the Magizoologist laugh to tears by toppling a pile of stolen silverware over him, causing some of the younger creatures to begin wrestling in an attempt to claim their favourite pieces back.

No, Newt was more worried about the isolation Percival was creating; he had remained in New York, only visiting once after Newt had first moved into the safehouse, and the younger man had felt that that had been more as a precaution to check the place’s safety and suitability before he had been called back to work. Though Newt didn’t remember hearing the familiar chime of the watch Percival wore to warn himself of such things. Newt was worried that his partner was only maintaining contact with him – and the pretence of continuing what they had spoken of together - because of his guilt and lingering concern for what had happened. He worried that Percival was isolating himself for reasons past necessity – that he was regretting his promises and was using his duty as a divider. He had tried not to let himself dwell upon it but after successfully settling both himself and his creatures in and exploring the surrounding area, he was finding it harder and harder not to dwell on troubling subjects. His concern for Percival. His thoughts and memories of Grindelwald. His worry for his brother and his ongoing mission.

And the swirling maelstrom of power within him. The magic that was swirling restlessly with his own, not quite separate but not quite integrated either, like oil on water, resting there, barely joined but floating on the surface still. It left him a little unsettled but he found that releasing the magic in small, regular bursts in everyday ways helped to ease the tension. He had been intrigued to see the colours of the creatures he knew so well, to see their magical auras that were dimmer than those of wizards but more solid – more clearly defined and unique between the same species. A hundred different variations of the same colours that were just barely detectable but twined around snouts, claws, eyes, fur, scales, fins, paws and wings in entrancing ways. He’d found working healing magic on them easier as he could see the threads of intentions and what made them, sealing the wounds, maladies and scars that would have previously eluded him. It was thrilling to see a case of fin rot disappear in a matter of minutes rather than slowly decay the Kelpie’s fin and cause difficulty swimming. The same satisfaction came from being able to help the malformed leg of the Graphorn youngling, seeing the parents nuzzling their tentacles over the whole limb in rumbling appreciative gurgles that Newt couldn’t help but grin to remember. It was fantastic.

It was only when the sun had dipped below the edge of the nearest hill that Newt withdrew his feet from the water, carefully extricating himself out from under the grumbling bodies of the creatures that had settled there and stretched, cracking joints before heading back up the cobbled path to the house. In his left hand, he held a bucket of lumps of meat, mostly empty but still full enough to tempt the Hippogriff and Zouwu to follow if they were feeling particularly stubborn and, in his right, a pair of supple leather boots. They were much like his old ones that the Salemers had burnt but of better quality, with charms woven into them that made them resistant to most elements as well as a variety of scuffs and stains.

They had been left in his case. He had found them sat primly upon a neat, nondescript bundle of brown wrapping paper in the shed upon a carefully cleared space on his desk, both his and Percival’s wands lying beside them unharmed. And though he strongly suspected where they had come from even before he saw the neatly handwritten note that had been pinned to the paper bundle, he had picked them up nonetheless, seeing no shimmer of ill magic and knowing that despite Grindelwald’s nature, this was not another trick but simply one of his odd little attempts at affection. He had supposed at the time that the wizard had left them there when Credence had emerged from his case, that he had sent them down whilst Newt had been lost in the haze of his agony at the scars on his heart. The boots had been useful, he couldn’t deny that, but the contents of the package had been burnt in a somewhat jubilant, funereal frenzy soon after he had discovered them whilst clearing his case of its contents.

It had been clothes. Simple, mostly plain and perfectly to his usual fashion even if of a better make than his own. Like the boots, they had been charmed to be durable and Newt had had to call upon the assistance of the Firedrakes to help destroy the damn things. The only reason the boots had stuck around was that they had simply refused anything and everything he’d thrown at them…and, to be honest, he _did_ need new boots. He hadn’t wanted them, he didn’t want the continued attempts at affection, at apology or claiming him – he didn’t want to be bought or reminded of Grindelwald in any way past what he couldn’t escape.

And the clothes had _stank_ of _him_.

He had watched them burn with pride and a deep sense of relish. Grimacing at the paper of the packages burned away further to reveal layers of silk and lace clothing that had been neatly folded underneath the stack of trousers and shirts. The flames had roared ever higher and hotter with Newt’s rage and the Salamanders and Firedrakes had burrowed deeper into the flames and ashes, revelling in the inferno that glowed and reflected upon the lake’s surface. Newt could still see the large charred area by the waterside as he padded past it, dropping his boots and mostly dry shirt by the door before moving toward the steps leading down to the cellar door, clicking the dial by the entrance around until it reached the correct setting – like a more complicated version of the one on his case – threw a piece of meat in and then stepped aside to let the Zouwu rush past. Closing the door, Newt repeated the process with Starktail and headed back up the steps to the house proper; it was cold, he fancied a shower and a hot meal before settling down with his sketchpad for the evening. Maybe do a bit more work on the new case he was working on, fixing and recrafting the leather and charms that held together and protected it, that maintained the environments within. For, as much as he loved the place he was in, he wasn’t fool enough to think that anything in his life was permanent. 

It was about an hour later, when he was halfway through saving and serving the singed remnants of some smoked trout and green beans in the kitchen when the wards chimed a warning through the house. Diligent as ever by dint of long experience, he palmed his wand from where it had been stuck carelessly into his belt loop, slipped his shirt back over his shoulders and padded silently across the wooden floor on bare feet. He peeked out of the green-tinted pane of glass and saw an aura that though he had only seen once on his last visit to the city to give his statement for Percival, President Picquery and some ministerial witnesses, he recognised instantly. He opened the door with a wave of his wand and a weary grin to the shades of sangria sunset that hazed around clear green eyes. “What can I do for you, Mr Harkaway?”

“Oh, you know, just passing through,” the Texan replied, running a ruffling hand through dirty blonde hair and handing Newt an acid-green bottle which he took with some surprise before he stepped aside, tapping on a set of subtle runes carved into the doorframe to let Harkaway inside. Glancing down at the bottle as he shut the door behind him, he frowned as he recognised the recognizable label of Basilisk Gin – the same brand he knew the man to prefer. “Thought I’d get you a little housewarming gift.” 

“One that you happen to have a penchant for?”

“As does old Graves’y, I might add,” the Auror grinned unrepentantly as he looked around the room, taking in the open bright space, which was warmly lit and the wide, comfortable sofas and quince armchairs, the roaring hearth and the steaming plate of food on the side. He slid off his coat and smart if rumpled jacket and slung them carelessly over the sofa, standing there in shirtsleeves and tie that was already loosened about his neck. “Hope I’m not intruding.” 

“Not at all,” Newt murmured, moving to put the bottle on the kitchen counter, fetching a glass for Harkaway, pausing and then getting one for himself as well. The American sprawled himself against the sofa arm where his coat lay and took a long sip, smacking his lips appreciatively at the burning bite of the drink. Newt took a polite sip of his own, eyes watering but throat tingling pleasantly and he coughed slightly before venturing, “So what brings you here?”

“Graves’ wellbeing and sanity, what else?” Harkaway’s smile did not reach his eyes, which were worried, even frustrated. The aura glowed no brighter and Newt guessed that this was simply a friend and colleague's concern. And though Newt wasn’t as hesitant to help or see Percival as he was when he and Harkaway had first met, he wasn’t quite sure exactly what the Auror wanted him to do this time around.

“He hasn’t been coping...well, I take it?” Newt hedged and the Texan barked a laugh.

“He hasn’t been _coping _with it at all. Whatever _it_ is,” Harkaway corrected and Newt winced but the Auror didn’t press on the details, just waved his drink hand toward Newt pointedly with a stern gaze and only barely smiling lips. “He’s doing his usual fancy-pants holier-than-thou bullshit ritual of acting like he’s too high and mighty to have problems, much less talk about them. I know he probably ain’t like that with you but that’s what he’s like with the rest of us mere mortals,” he snorted and took another drink, “He don’t say it neither but I can tell just from how he looks at you that he thinks the sun shines outta every part ya got.”

Newt flushed, ducking his head but meeting the other’s clear green eyes and sangria haze that pulsed with strands of sunshine yellow. Oddly apt for the phrasing used, he supposed. “I’ve been getting the feeling he’s been avoiding me as much as he has talking about his problems.”

“You can say that again.”

Newt took another drink, grimaced and set it aside only half-finished. It was dreadfully strong stuff and he didn’t want to tempt fate by becoming intoxicated in the fluctuating state he was in, especially around someone he didn’t know all too well. “What made you come here in person though? You could’ve said this in your letter, couldn’t you?” Harkaway had indeed written to him the week before, having apparently been given his address by Percival, though Newt wasn’t entirely sure if the information had been given readily.

“Well yeah, but it would’ve denied us both a decent chance to get soused, eh?” he asked, tapping his mostly empty drink against Newt’s half-full one and then downing his own. He didn’t seem drunk but the gleam in his eyes gave Newt the impression that he was intending to change that state.

“I don’t really drink, Mr Harkaway.”

“Jared, please, it’s painful enough with all the titles and ‘yes sirs’, ‘of course Auror Harkaway’ when I’m on the job without getting that from you too,” he nudged Newt’s shoulder playfully and the Brit jolted a bit in surprise, “Besides, I thought you were the Ministry-spurning, dark wizard defeating, animal rights activist who’s only just come down off the international wanted list. You really gonna go all formal on me after all that?”

“I suppose not, I…uh, Jared,” Newt chuckled in his awkwardness, taking another sip, finding it oddly amusing to hear himself summarised in such a fashion.

“Nice place you got here, guessing it was sorted with all that money from your book?”

Newt shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly, realising that he should probably check his account at Gringotts sometime soon to check on the state of his funds. “No, it was a…present from a friend, I suppose.”

Harkaway’s brows arched dubiously, “Damn generous friend.” 

Newt chuckled, taking another draught of his drink, “More like a guilty one, actually, but I can’t say I didn’t appreciate the gesture, nonetheless.”

“You seem to have a way about you,” he replied, loosening his shirt’s top button, pulling his tie out a bit and Newt looked at him askance.

“A way?” he queried with a nervous laugh and Harkaway regarded him warmly.

“You make folks react strong no matter which way it is. The smart ones love ya and the thick ones hate.”

Newt exhaled a little laugh, cheeks pink, “Um…thanks?”

“Just making an observation. Like, creatures, they got more sense than most and they know to trust ya, they get loyal real quick. Smart folk are the same, them who ain’t too set in their ways to know sumin’ special when they see it,” he tilted his head and Newt saw a pensive aspect flicker into his eyes and aura, a strain of dusky pink becoming more prevalent within the sangria. “You just gotta see it right back. See what you do and the effect you have on others. You don’t seem too clued in on how knotted you can get a guy. Whether you reckon what they see is right or not, you gotta get a handle on the fact it ain’t gonna change even if you do.” 

Newt was feeling decidedly flushed now, eyes flickering between the aura shining around the other man’s drink hand and his own bare toes, not sure why but feeling as if the Auror was making more sense than a man with no specific knowledge of his situation should have. It didn’t feel like Harkaway knew anything he shouldn’t but he seemed to speak from the perspective of someone with the benefit of objectivity and experience of vaguely similar circumstances. 

He was distracted, however, when the wards chimed again along with several sharp, impatient knocks on the door. Newt put his drink down, feeling the warmth from the strong alcoholic drink colouring his cheeks along with the effects of Harkaway’s teasing behaviour. He saw the amber aura shining strongly through the door glass, brighter than the mahogany and fluctuating as Newt opened the door to reveal a peeved looking Percival. Newt was surprised but let him in as he had Harkaway, tapping the runes and letting his partner sweep past him in a flash of dark coat and flared white collar before he froze and looked back at him. The older man’s dark eyes zeroed in on Newt’s barely dressed state and the Magizoologist flushed, waving a hand so swiftly at his rumpled, unbuttoned shirt and rolled up trousers that a few buttons pinged off dramatically, rolling away past his sight. He hadn’t been aware of or even bothered by his state of dress until then and he flushed further in the realisation that he had been greeted Harkaway and chatted with him like that.

Newt was about to explain his shambolic attire but was denied the chance and instead watched on bemusedly as Percival beelined toward Harkaway. His pace wasn’t swift, more purposeful but still on a clear route to intimidate even as Harkaway grinned at him jovially, reaching into the cupboard for another glass as if he owned the place and waving it toward Percival. 

“Drink, Graves’y?”

“You never gave me the impression that I was giving you Newt’s address for you to be making unsolicited social calls.”

“Oh come on now, boss, what’ve you got against a bit of socialising as long as you got an extra pair of eyes on the little dragon?” Percival very nearly sputtered and Harkaway pressed a drink into his hand, likely before his superior could use it to hex him although Newt wasn’t entirely sure handing him a potential glass projectile was much of a better prospect. “You can’t say he doesn’t merit watching and we all know it ain’t the first time I’d be doing it on your behalf.” 

“I never asked-” Percival began before Harkaway cut him off with a wave of his hand,

“Nah, nah, nah, you didn’t this time ‘round but now you’re here so I can kindly take my leave now, can’t I?” he made a show of looking out the window then at his pocket-watch, “Well, well now, it's getting rather late, I figure that anyone staying much longer’d be sensible to stay the night, now wouldn’t they?”

The look that Percival gave the man could’ve blistered stone as he called Harkaway’s coat from where it lay upon the sofa and sent it hurtling at its owner who caught it shortly before the material could ensconce (and, if Percival’s expression was any gauge, smother) him. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow you useless, conniving, malingering git.”

Harkaway grinned, nodding to his boss before patting Newt on the shoulder on his way past to go out the door. “Shouldn’t expect you too early, should I?”

Newt was quick to shove the Auror out of the door before Percival could inflict any damage, sensing by the blistering heat of copper that was radiating off him that he was not in any mood to be tempered. He heard muffled laughter from the other side of the door before footsteps receded down the path and there was a crack of apparation. Newt paused for a few seconds, breathing in steadily before he turned to face Percival, seeing the man standing by the counter, expression and posture almost awkward and tension still rolling in the roiling colour of his aura.

“I swear that man is more invested in our relationship than you are at this point,” Newt joked flatly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as the silence stretched on too long. He winced as Percival looked up sharply and Newt fixed his eyes upon his toes again before moving forward and downing nearly half of the drink that Harkaway had poured Percival. There was a brief moment when their fingertips touched as he took the glass and he couldn’t help his lips twitching momentarily upward at the blending of their auras, even just for a second. The mahogany and forest green looked natural together whilst the copper, gold and barest traces of silver created an entrancing highlight to edge the tones, like fine embroidery. He looked back up to Percival’s eyes and tried to convey his apology with his own. “Sorry, I…didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“What brought you here in such a huff?”

“Damn idiot made sure to stop by my office before leaving for the evening, waved that bottle in my face and told me he was going to pay you a visit,” Percival sighed theatrically as he took the glass back off Newt, eying its half-full state critically before necking the rest of it and setting it down on the counter without so much as a wince. “I thought I’d try to save you from being subjected to an evening of _that,_” he nodded his head toward the door by which his colleague had left with an irritated look, his lip curling, and Newt snorted in amusement. 

“Much appreciated though perhaps not entirely necessary,” he said, stepping around Percival and toward the sofa, settling down on the cushions, curling his legs up to the side, not enough to prevent Percival joining him but enough to put a little space between them. He didn’t want the distraction of the temptation for physical intimacy unless it was what Percival wanted; he knew how distracted both of them could get with things like that and needed to maintain a semi-clear head with which to sort out the lingering tensions between them.

The Auror sighed, shucking off his coat and scarf and flopping down wearily onto the gap Newt had left but surprising the Magizoologist by grabbing his bare ankle and manoeuvring his feet to lie on the Auror’s lap. If he was bothered by Newt’s cold, grubby feet on his neat pinstriped suit trousers he didn’t show it as he spoke, both pairs of eyes fixed on Newt’s feet this time. “Perhaps not, Harkaway is a good man. Just far too conniving and single-minded to be involved in a situation like…this.”

“I’d reckon you’re right but he did bring up a point or two that I think might be relevant here.”

“Oh, and what would those be?”

“That I should be more…conscientious of the ‘effect’ I have on people and whether I like it or not, or even if I intend it, that I need to get to grips with it and act accordingly,” he looked up to meet Percival’s eyes but for once it was the Auror who was reluctant to make the contact and he felt the sting of it keenly, the aura visible on his foot spiking slightly sour with silver.

“Whether you blame me or not…you-…you’ve been hurt well past the line of any duty you would have as an Auror to deal with Grindelwald. It got personal because of your connection to me and because I not only let you but wanted you to be with me – in my life – in a life that ruined yours,” the green and copper flared brighter, “You’ve acted for so long as if you don’t blame me for any of what I dragged you into and then, when you had a chance to get some justice for yourself I told you not to. It was selfish of me to ask that of you for my sake alone, for the guilt that I would feel. It wasn’t fair and…I’m sorry that I placed his life above the retribution you need to get something even close to closure.”

He swallowed, his fingers and toes curling, the latter movement drawing Percival’s eyes up to his face, expression unreadable as Newt went on firmly, with resolve, “He did more…lasting damage to you than he did me because he thought it would hurt me, that it would convince me to do what I should have done and left you out of all this. He did harm that I can’t undo even with his magic to help me and it’s a hurt that’ll never stop. You’re always gonna be reminded of him and me at every full moon and I had no right to put you in a position like that even if you think you wanted everything that came along with whatever you see in me.”

“Newt…you can’t stop how people feel about you. It’s up to them – _us_ \- how they deal with their feelings…or don’t,” he looked strained as his thumb stroked over the arch of Newt’s foot. “Grindelwald…he told me when you were out after he got his hands on you-…he told me that it was only your interest in me that had ‘kept me in the story’, in his damn narrative and that he would’ve just killed me long ago had you not wanted me around.” His expression hardened from sickened contemplation into frustrated determination, “But don’t think for one damn second that he would’ve ever just let me go along my merry way had you not been in the picture. He would’ve made whatever death he had cooked up for me as unpleasant and drawn out as he could. You know what he’s like. You know he’s not the sort of person to let anyone get off easy.” He barked a bitter laugh, “Hell, Newt, you saved me even before we met by revealing him to the dumbass MACUSA lot who were meant to be the best of the best and then when you got me out of those tunnels…Grindelwald would’ve just left me to rot there. They probably never would’ve found me if it weren’t for you.”

His brows furrowed further, “But we aren’t talking about any damn debts or sense or owing each other anything cause that’s not what this is all about. Nobody should be keeping score, this isn’t a game, this is just me loving you and you me. It's about wanting to be together without that sick bastard sticking himself right in the middle of it,” he grimaced, “I’ll admit it. I wish I’d cut the fucker’s cock off and torn his beating heart out with my bare hands – seems only fair after all – but that isn’t what happened. He’s locked up again and that’ll do as long as it stays that way,” Percival looked Newt dead in the eyes as he said: “But I swear that if he so much as sets a single toe, hell, even a single _thought_ out of that cell, I _will_ kill him.” 

Newt nodded, “And I promise that I won’t even try to convince you otherwise.”

“You sure about that?” Percival asked, a brow raised but a slightly satisfied smirk pulling the very corner on one side of his mouth, the scar stretching underneath the glamour in a way that didn’t look quite right. Newt supposed it was a good thing that Percival didn’t smile much at work. He banished the slight bitter amusement he drew from the thought before it had even formed and nodded solemnly. 

“As sure as I can be,” he paused, curling his feet closer to himself and burying them under Percival’s legs as the spot was warm and less likely to continue sullying the man’s trousers. “Is there anything else you want to talk about? I reckon now might be a good time. Get it all out in the open, so to speak.” 

“Why? You planning on going somewhere?” Percival asked, “Your deluded bastard of a friend seems to have thought of damn near everything around here. Can’t see why you’d want to leave.”

Newt grinned then, remembering something that he had discovered on his second day of exploring the underground enclosures and quickly stood, holding out a hand to Percival who eyed him bemusedly before taking it and levering himself up with a groan. The Auror’s arm slipped around his waist as Newt led him forward, past the fireplace and to a set of steps directly to the left, descending with quick steps and clicking the dial on the wall that matched the one outside until it reached a black setting with a large white circle emblazoned upon it.

“Dumbledore left a few enclosures empty for me to adapt as I wished or needed if I got anyone new.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve found something so dangerous that even you have separated it out this much?” Percival asked warily as they stepped out into a large, moonlit glade that lay aside from all the other enclosures, separated by charms and a massive mountain range, a warm enough climate that the grass under Newt’s bare feet was not uncomfortable and a light enough breeze to keep it a relaxed temperature. 

“Not exactly,” Newt replied and slipped from his companion’s hold, stepping toward two stone pillars set deep into the ground and holding up the long, empty chains that rested upon the grass there.

Percival frowned for a moment before comprehension dawned and his brows shot up, “This is for me?”

“They’re enchanted with more accommodating charms than the ones in your family’s old home,” Newt explained, feeling eager to demonstrate the features of the enclosure so it didn’t seem as possessive or strange as it might’ve been. “They expand and contract as you change forms so there won’t be any pain from that at least, and they also leach a bit of a sleeping draught into your system if you get…too…um, irritable. Not enough to put you down, just to relax you a bit. Sleepy like,” he continued, going into a bit of a frenzy as he gestured to the large glade, the small spring and the large spread of leaves and soft grass, Percival watching him in stunned amusement, “If no one else is here there’s plenty of room to run so you might actually feel better when you change back, it’ll take up some of the excess energy you usually get when you turn. And I reckon there’s probably enough wildlife so that you might be able to satiate your need for raw meat on a hunt. It’ll help with the mood swings and exhaustion and-”

He was broken off as Percival caught him by the wrist where he had been gesturing and swung him into a kiss, an arm wrapping softly around his waist again and Newt smiled into the other’s mouth. He pulled back and giggled as Percival nuzzled his nose into Newt’s copper curls just over his ear, the touch tickling and the two shades of copper blending and blazing brightly. Newt wondered, then, if the copper in Percival’s aura was in some way there because of him but the thought soon slipped from his mind as he raised tainted-green eyes to meet the werewolf’s deep ones, one long finger coaxing Newt’s chin up to look at him.

“I appreciate this; I wasn’t sure if there was any room in all this for me,” he smiled, “Besides, it’ll be less of a pain in the ass to travel here once a month than going all the way home.” He tilted his head and snorted slightly, “And less chance of running into Ma by accident. Unless, of course, you’ve got some damn enclosure built for her too.”

Newt laughed aloud, ducking his head from the grip, “Not just yet, no.”

“Bloody relief that is. She’s been staying in my apartment for the last fortnight no matter how much I ask her to leave. Between her and Harkaway it’s been a bit of a nightmare getting any time to come up here outside of the cases and getting you lot off the watchlist,” he heaved a weary sigh, “Plus, I’ve heard news from your brother. Someone made an attempt on his life whilst his decoy self was in St Mungo’s. He managed to apprehend them without blowing his cover but he sent me a missive asking me to let you know he’s gone to Tina and Edwin. They’re safe for now it seems, but there’s still a lot of corruption in the British Ministry according to what he’s found. Your old pal Leta is apparently in deep with her engagement to the new deputy minister so don’t go getting in contact with her as Theseus suspects Fawley is part of it all. He warned us both to keep an eye on things, to be careful but not to get involved as it’ll just get in his way, apparently.”

Newt nodded slowly, “As much as I reckon he needs the help more than his stubborn pride will let him admit, I think that I’ve had enough of getting involved with Ministry business and conflict for a while. And you’ve got plenty on your plate besides.” 

“My thoughts exactly, just thought I’d let you know. Theseus thought that he’d have the best luck getting in contact with you via me after you went AWOL.”

“I just hope that Tina can knock a bit of sense into him. He needs to stick around for his family’s sake. He of all people should know that having a decent dad in the picture can make all the difference,” he stared off past Percival’s shoulder into the trees, a knot squirming in his stomach as he thought of the fates of his family, hoping that Tina and Theseus would be able to do a better job of raising Edwin than the job that his own father had done in that department. Not that he liked to think ill of the dead, but he could never claim - even posthumously – that his dad had been loving or kind, something that had only increased Theseus’ protectiveness of Newt as a result.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine, Newt. As much as your brother is a pompous, controlling ass, I think he might be able to make a semi-decent father. From what you’ve told me, he had a fair hand in looking after you when you were younger and you turned out just fine, if almost as clueless as he can be sometimes. Not to mention difficult,” Newt shoved at him playfully and headed back toward the entrance to the house, Percival following beside him with an arm still slung firmly about his waist, holding close as they kept in step. They made an odd pair between Newt’s lanky, ambling gait and Percival’s purposeful, steady stride. “That kid is gonna be as stubborn, bright and cocky as they come is my bet. I’m sure he’s gonna be just fine.”

“Probably,” Newt agreed before glancing at his partner hesitantly, “I don’t suppose that you’d fancy visiting them with me? Dumbledore gave me their address and it isn’t too far from here, there’s even a Floo-connection from my fireplace.”

Percival smiled, “Of course, it’s been a while since I’ve seen either of them and the last time I saw the kid he was still in Tina,” he chuckled. “I never got to thank them for letting me stay with them when I was such a damn mess. I reckon we should bring ’em something nice. Any ideas for your brother?” he snorted, “Aside from a good kick up the ass?”

“He likes Cauldron Cakes, used to trade them off me and only give me Fire-Imps in return. Had quite a bit of fun with them actually and he soon regretted doing it,” Newt chuckled, bouncing up the last step into the house before adding, “He fancies the Brandy-soaked ones now.”

“I’ll get some tomorrow and we can visit in the afternoon as I think I’ve earned a bit of time off,” Percival suggested and Newt nodded readily, the plans feeling surprisingly domestic after everything but still pleasant. He had already been working on something quite special for Edwin to have and resolved to fix it in the morning before they visited. 

They ended up back in Newt’s kitchen, the gramophone playing quietly in the background as he worked to scoop out a second serving of his meal for them to share. The couple sat at the scrubbed kitchen table under the light of the rafter-hung lanterns that dotted the room, settled into a warm glow that exacerbated the one lying upon Percival. Newt found himself staring at the other man, entranced by the way the sparks and shifts of colour hovered around him with every movement and thought, it was distracting and he couldn’t help but be intrigued. Eventually, as Percival was finishing the last bite of green beans, the Auror exhaled and looked up, “I’m guessing that it's not only my dashing good looks that's got your attention at the moment is it?”

“Well that too, I suppose,” Newt admitted

“Still seeing these…auras then?”

Newt nodded, “I don’t know how Grindelwald could stand it…or even if he did…maybe he didn’t, maybe it's just me.”

“No use of the ‘G’ word whilst I’m holding sharp objects, if you please,” Percival gritted out, grip tightening on both his knife and fork and Newt chuckled a little but nodded his agreement and altered the course of conversation just enough.

“Anyway, yes, it can be quite distracting but as I said, it helps to be sure of things. I don’t think an aura can be faked like a face or voice – they’re personal, like someone’s magic and character wrapped into each other. It’s how I knew I could let Harkaway in safely.”

“I don’t know if _safely_ is the right word exactly…” Percival half-grumbled and Newt hid his smile by ducking his head as he collected the plates, dumping them into the sink and flicking his wand to set them washing themselves.

“He’s not being serious with any of his comments, I don’t think, he’s just messing around with you because he’s worried for his friend,” Newt said as he sprawled out on the sofa again. 

“Oh, is that what he told you?” Percival asked dubiously, scooting the Magizoologist’s lanky legs out of the way as he settled in close to Newt, slinging an arm over the back of the sofa and shucking his tie and top button. 

“Well the being worried for you part, yes, I’m sure that none of the compliments he made were meant as anything past him just being friendly, strikes me as the sort.” 

“What do you mean by compliments, exactly?” Percival asked abruptly and Newt shook his head disparagingly.

“Oh, stop that now. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, Percival,” Newt paused, eying the older man curiously before he awkwardly phrased something he’d wondered at for a while, “Did you and him ever…um…er-…-exchange compliments?”

Percival snorted but flushed slightly all the same, “If that’s your way of asking if we ever hooked up the answer is yes but it wasn’t a particularly successful attempt.”

Newt’s eyes widened, “What happened?”

Percival shifted a little awkwardly in his seat but his voice was brash as ever, “Both got blind drunk at the end of a three-week-long stake-out. We’d been holed up together in a backend bar in an attempt to apprehend the gang of counterfeiters we’d been weeding out. It wasn’t long after I got my full Auror status, about eighteen years ago now,” he sighed, “Anyway, we got to celebrating and, well, you’ve seen what he’s like when he’s sober – imagine that amplified by youth, drink and nearly a month without sex. We started getting down and dirty, right in the back room of the bar and then we hit a rather major snag.”

“Which was?” Newt asked, blushing furiously but with a curious, embarrassed smile alighting his lips, nonetheless.

“Neither of us was a bottom.”

“What do you-…oh,” Newt began and broke off as the implication occurred to him and his blush intensified. “I ah…I suppose that would become a problem.”

“We ended up jerking each other off and passing out in a trouserless heap until the barman came back there and threw a sour barrel of ale over us. I’m very glad that as much as Harkaway likes to hold a lot of things over me, _that _wasn’t one of them,” Percival laughed heartily before his expression sobered a little, “Morgana’s ass, I feel like I’ve just told a dirty story to a Catholic schoolboy,” he rubbed a hand wearily, disparagingly over his face and Newt snorted.

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. You don’t have to treat me like I’m incapable of hearing about your past with other people without somehow being corrupted,” he rolled tainted-green eyes before adding, “Besides, I’m sure you were just dreadfully seduced by the dastardly Harkaway’s exceptional charms. He certainly seems to know how to stir up your cauldron after all.” 

“He’s not the only one,” Percival commented, running his draped arm’s hand through Newt’s hair, ruffling it until it was even more of a copper tangle than usual.

“I never!” the younger man laughed and jolted forward, batting at him and falling into fits of giggles as the Auror pulled him across his lap and wrapped his arms tight around him. He wriggled in the grip until Percival let out a barely stifled moan and Newt froze as he realised that his ass was rubbing directly against the Director’s crotch from the position that he’d found himself in. He attempted to roll into a less damning position and felt his pulse strum faster in his veins when Percival’s hand clamped down on his side and hip, the other drifting up to trace Newt’s plump, pink, slightly parted lips. He was about to speak, though what to say, he wasn’t sure, when Percival gripped both his hips and flipped him so that he was now belly side down on the Auror’s lap. His face was pressed into the armrest of the sofa and his arms were pinned between him and the pinstriped legs of the Auror he lay astride, he could have moved them if he wanted to but his hammering heart, thrumming pulse and rousing cock were telling him to stay just where he was. He was suddenly very aware of how Percival’s large warm hand was resting on his thigh, just below the curve of his arse, stroking so lightly over the raised flesh…just in the perfect position to- _smack! _

Newt jolted in shock, his growing interest rubbing teasingly against Percival’s thigh and he gasped aloud, panting slightly as his head twisted back to see the older man staring down at the place his open palm had just struck with something near reverence, a slight smile curling the edges of his lips. Mahogany glowed everywhere, least brightly but most intensely in his eyes as he met Newt’s, those eyes asking a silent question and Newt didn’t hesitate for more than a second before he nodded his consent. The hand struck again thrice more in rapid succession and Newt barely stifled a moan of his own, burying his face in the sofa cushions as Percival’s other hand dug underneath him to fumble at his trouser fastenings and belt. Eager to assist, Newt raised his hips, pushing up with his forearms and kicking himself up closer and higher with his feet until he was arched up off his partner, his arse pressing up into the touch that rested there. Percival huffed a breath of stunned amusement and set about tugging away Newt’s trousers mere inches at a time, his throaty chuckle deepening as Newt began to kick his legs in an attempt to free them quicker.

It was then that Newt heard a number of indignant chirrups coming from alarmingly close by and his head jerked up, looking around frantically before laughing as he realised where the sound was coming from.

“What is it?”

Newt managed to extricate his arm from underneath him and reached into the fold of his collar and shirt pocket to coax out a trio of confused and irritable Bowtruckles. “S-sorry! Forgot they were in there.”

“Please tell me that’s the only errant creatures on your person that you’re only just now remembering.”

Newt was quick to speak even as he set the Bowtruckles – Pickett included – onto the nearest potted tree and though it wasn’t their usual preference of wood, they seemed happier there than being disturbed by the two canoodling humans. “Well, they were in my hair earlier but then they must’ve moved when I got dressed and-”

“Newt?” Percival said calmly and Newt sat back on his haunches from where he'd leant to re-home the creatures, watching expectantly as the Auror rose to stand before him, the bulge in his pinstriped suit trousers tantalisingly level with his face and Newt had to force his eyes up as he replied. 

“Yes?” 

“Shut up.”

Newt opened his mouth to admonish him playfully but was halted as Percival kissed him again, this time firmly and demanding, taking him by the dip of his waist and drawing him up to his knees to be on a better level. Newt took the cue when Percival tugged him further forward and his arms ensconced the Auror’s shoulders, almost squeaking in shock as he was lifted off the sofa and his legs swiftly wrapped themselves around Percival’s waist. Both were sent into a round of giggles, however as the older man staggered a little bit and the kiss broke off long enough for him to gasp, “Not that I’m complaining, but you’re not such a bloody waif anymore. Finally taking care of yourself, eh?”

Newt nodded but turned the motion into an opportunity to suckle at the other man’s neck, sliding himself down till bare feet met the wood floor and he used his hold on broad shoulders to pull Percival in the direction of the stairs. He gave up quickly though and apparated them both to the top, shoving the door open with one hip and leading Percival across the room to the double four-poster bed. He had been somewhat amused though nostalgia-laden when he had discovered the main bedroom of the place to be done up somewhat like an extravagant, enlarged version of his Hufflepuff dorm décor. Black and yellow bedding, badgers carved into the bedframe and large bay window complete with a yellow-black chequered cushion for him to look out upon the lake view from. Though the Hufflepuff common room had not had such a view, it had had magically enhanced rays of sunlight that streamed through despite the area’s underground location.

The cool, stark starlight from the window and the warmer light from the candles dotted around the room shone upon Percival’s face and his copper aura burned brighter than ever, enflamed and warm like a fire before him. They paused for a moment, both breathing heavily as Percival spoke again, “We can stop you know. Any time you like. You’re more powerful than me right now. If you don’t like something I’m doing or get...lost, then don’t be afraid to stop me.”

Newt nodded mutely, running a hand over the delightfully spiky shaved sides of Percival's hair, a mere blink of his eyes and curl of his fingers stripping them both as the Auror's back met the bedpost with a thump that had them both gasping. As Percival’s lips devoured their way along his throat and collarbone, Newt’s eyes feasted in turn on the view given to him by the nearby full-length mirror. He could see them both - all exposed skin and tangled limbs, auras incandescent, taking in the smooth spaces where there had once been angry scars except for the now unglamoured werewolf injuries that stood proud and ribbed where they lay on a muscled physique. Looked at his own smooth skin, only the heart scar, like a tiny pink star remaining, even the white lines of the blood pact faded to nothing by the new, stronger magic. With the singular exception of a slight white swirl along the edge of one eye, barely noticeable but gouged just that fraction deeper, usually hidden by his messy hair.

Percival was right, he had filled out a little over the fortnight he’d been here, regular food and exercise and long spans in the sun returning his form to something close to what it had been shortly before they met. No longer cadaverous, scarred, scared and ghostly pale. Well, not quite as much anyway.

His attention was drawn back to his lover as Percival’s hand began to heatedly knead his ass, a fingertip running along the edge of his hole and massaging in tight little circles that had Newt’s eyes flickering shut. _So much gentler than he deserved..._He banished the whispered thought quickly and focussed upon the heated mahogany glow that permeated his eyelids. _You are safe. No matter what happens or how heated this gets, how intense... it's just me and Percival. _

The entwined men migrated to the bed, Newt with his face half-buried into the pillows, gasping as Percival’s finger pressed and explored deeper, familiar spikes of light piercing behind his eyelids and hot shudders flushing through him. Lips pressed softly to the back of his neck, his shivers intensifying as he squirmed in pleasure, hands going back, seeking blindly to return the pleasure Percival was giving him but feeling a thrill go through him when the Auror’s capable hands caught one wrist and twisted it up his back. He gasped as his shoulder ached in protest, his free hand scrambling at the sheets and managing to find the back of Percival’s knee, fingers skating over the soft skin until the older man jerked and huffed a laugh. Newt’s panting pink lips curved into a smile as he realised that the man’s knees were ticklish and whilst he stowed the information for future reference, he simply let himself be pinned, revelling in the mahogany haze and the copper firing it. It felt like all the danger, warmth and contradictory reassurance of a roaring hearth. 

“Newt, I’m going to turn you over now, I want to see your beautiful face and those big green eyes of yours looking up at me as I fuck you,” Percival’s voice was peppered honey in his ear, the werewolf’s teeth tugging dangerously on the very shell of his ear as he spoke, “But I want you to stay still for me. Do you think you can do that?”

He breathed out the scent of spiced gin onto Newt’s cheek and the Magizoologist grinned into the pillow before turning his face into Percival’s, catching his lip and biting down hard enough to draw a drop of blood.

“Now that wasn’t very nice now was it, sweetheart?” Percival growled low in his ear, his voice slipping back into that old, half-forgotten accent in the same dangerous way it had back at Graves manor during his near-transformation. He looked oddly delighted, however, as he roughly flipped Newt over, gripping his wrists and pinning them on either side as his erect length teased and rubbed along the sensitive flesh of Newt’s perineum. His eyes flickered to half-mast and it was only the press of a warm strip of material against his lips that had them fluttering open again; Percival was looking down at him with a request for permission that Newt replied to by opening his lips and allowing the fabric of Percival’s gold dotted grey tie in between them. The Magizoologist lifted his head a little to allow Percival to tie it behind his head, the gag tight against the corners of his mouth but soft enough that he didn’t feel like he was trapped. He wasn’t helpless here, it was just a fantasy – a bloody brilliant one – but still, just a game that succeeded in raising his heartrate and sending thrills of anticipation through him straight to his fattening cock. The younger man moaned in his gag, thrusting up to try to catch the feeling of Percival’s length teasing him again only to be cruelly denied by wicked eyes and sinfully smiling lips. The air around them was copper fire, setting the forest of his own aura alight and threading through with rays of golden sunlight. 

It could’ve been too much; if it had been anyone else, after all that happened, but it wasn’t and despite everything. Despite _it all. _Grindelwald had been the one to give Newt a way to be sure of who he was with and what he wanted. He wanted Percival, all the rough edges and hard fucking, the lewd and dangerous sides that had been restrained and deprived by both of their caution and fear until now. Percival saw it too, his eyes full and sure, blazing and centred in what he saw in Newt. 

It wasn’t the roughness that had bothered Newt, it was just _him_. Grindelwald’s vile nature and cruel intentions seeping into everything he did to Newt or for him even if it seemed outwardly affectionate. The reason he had desired it, even a little – more than he wanted to admit - was because Grindelwald had been the one to make him realise that he liked being held down, tied up, silenced and fucked. It was awful, horrifying at first because he had thought it was Gellert that he wanted but it was…being..._taken_. He wanted the carnality and passion, the lust and borderline cruelty that eluded most or was repressed because Newt was seen as fragile and innocent. Percival clearly understood now, the black curtain cords slithering across the floor up to catch Newt’s wrists were enough to tell the Magizoologist that. They caught him, pulled each wrist out to either side of the bed and bound themselves somewhere under the bed, likely to the bed-feet, tugging his arms out taut with the Auror still astride him, eyes deep and unfathomable. Those depths drank him in and Newt smiled, just a little encouraging twitch of his lips that prompted a low, long sigh before Percival lined himself up with Newt’s entrance, pushing just the tip in, groaning slightly before sliding in halfway. Newt tugged unthinkingly on the cords circling his wrists, relishing the way they just _didn’t give_. They weren’t cold steel or silver. No wide metal bands or rough, coarse rope. Soft, strong and slightly ribbed against the soft flesh of his inner wrists that pulled tighter as Newt writhed, trying to encourage Percival to enter him properly, to hit that spot that his fingers had only teasingly brushed before.

It felt like an age before Percival gripped him tightly by the hips and fulfilled his wish, thrusting all the way in and drawing a loud gasp from the pinned man, a copper-fire constellation dancing behind his eyes. His legs wrapped around Percival’s ass, drawing him in deeper until Newt could feel nothing else, the Auror laughing and leaning forward to kiss him gently, sweetly for just a moment of reprieve and adjustment before he began a quick, pounding pace.

“Perc-mphh…y’s-…m’re-...ungh-” Newt’s gasping, muffled, mostly unintelligible moans seemed to do the trick of spurring the werewolf on and he drew Newt’s hips from the bed, holding his lower half aloft as he hammered into him. Newt couldn’t control the noises slipping from his lips nor the way his magic hummed around them, the ghosts of touches he wanted to perform on Percival created by his will, the sensations of fingers stroking and tugging in tandem with Newt’s inability to perform them physically. It was a perfect blend of the thrill of being dominated whilst being able to bring pleasure to the one bringing so much to him. Percival’s back arched and his hips snapped forward as the approximation of Newt’s fingers carded along the back of his neck, curling invisible fingers into mussed hair.

When Percival’s eyes opened again to pierce down at Newt his pupils were blown wide, almost obscuring the ring of colour and his lips drew back in a near snarl as he released Newt’s hip on one side, letting him drop back to the bed as he continued to thrust. Sweat was glistening over every plane of his sharp features and muscular chest, running in entrancing rivulets down his scarred face, his scratched neck and across the gashes ending just above his abdominals. One hand encircled Newt’s cock, the thumb of the grasping hand rubbing tenderly over his balls while the rest went about fingering his length. The Auror’s mouth descended to lick just barely on the very tip which was all he could reach and Newt screamed freely into the tie jamming his mouth, hands utterly white-knuckled as he clenched them around the cords binding him still. He was sensitive, nearly too much so as Percival continued to suckle and squeeze, pressure building in Newt’s gut and he barely managed to groan out something that could be construed as a warning.

Percival – clearly more experienced in that department than Newt – eased off the suction, thrusting in harder and at an angle just enough adjusted so that when Newt looked down, he saw the very tip of Percival’s cock bulging out his stomach just that little bit. It was enough to have him coming on the spot and as he felt him _so deep_… 

Percival’s mouth drew back and pumped Newt’s cock, once, twice, three times more before he released, the gold blazing up to meet the copper as Percival finished within him, the bulge of the length a visual reminder of just how far inside of him Percy really was. He didn’t withdraw but his legs shuttered out a bit, the Auror half-slumping onto him, not enough to crush but more firmly rest, the hot, sweaty, hairy man claiming him now in a similar way to how his wolf half had, only in a distinctly dirtier manner this time around. Fingers rubbed over Newt’s wrists, onto his palms too and then up to his fingers, slowly, carefully working feeling and colour back into the pale, tingling appendages that Newt had long since begun to ignore. The tie was pulled from his mouth and he gasped, working his lips, feeling slightly sore marks stretch around the corners and into his cheeks before his face was caught by warm hands and Percival’s scarred lips pressed to his own.

“Fucking hell, Newton a-thousand-middle-names Scamander, I swear you’re not leaving this bed ever again.”

Newt grinned stupidly, a mere rotation of his wrists releasing them so that he could grab Percival’s face with both hands and pull him onto his side so that the older man was pressed up against him, still sheathed but in a more comfortable position, both resting with their sweaty foreheads touching, chests heaving and every part moulded to one another. They fit well despite the differences in height and physiques. And the differences that lay deeper than that too. 

“Thank you…for this…” Newt smiled, flexing himself back slightly further into Percival and the man in turn into him. “For this and for everything.”

“My pleasure,” he half-groaned, drawing back a bit so that he wasn’t quite so deeply lodged within Newt but still not withdrawing despite his softening state, his cock merely warming inside Newt and both feeling content to let it.

The Auror let out a groan a few moments later, shifting and Newt’s eyes drifted back open, drunk on the whiskey colour of the aura he was steeped in, “What is it?”

“I’ll be damned if Harkaway wasn’t right about me being late in tomorrow.”

Newt snorted, letting his eyes waft shut again, “Sod him. Sod them all. I’m sure they can make it without you for one whole day, can’t they?” he shifted a bit closer into Percival’s shoulder, nosing into the citrus-whiskey-pine scent before he grumbled, “You did just play a big part in clearing three major cases for them _and_ you gave a solid beating to the world’s most dangerous dark wizard, after all,” he pressed a kiss to Percival’s jaw, “I think you deserve a day or two of very, very selfish sex and they can get along without you.” 

“I’ll put that in the memo, shall I? I’m sure Picquery will react brilliantly to that.”

“On second thought, maybe not, I don’t fancy pitting you against her with the next full moon coming up in a few weeks.”

“Point,” Percival mumbled and Newt could tell from his tone that he was on the verge of falling asleep. Newt gently extricated himself from the Auror and dragged the covers over both of them, gasping slightly as he suddenly felt wet and empty. He let a wave of rejuvenating magic wash over both of them and Percival’s eyelids barely flickered but he sighed in his near-sleep, sweat and semen clearing themselves from skin and aching muscles soothed. “Thank you…”

Newt hesitated only until he knew Percival was fully asleep before he slid out from the covers, slipping on striped pyjama bottoms gingerly and calling his navy-bound sketchbook over to him from the window-seat. He summoned his pencil and a number of coloured oil pastels to his hand as he needed them, propped up on cushions in the bed beside Percival. The hum of his aura was softer in sleep, more focussed around his slumbering eyes and temples than anywhere else on his body which had settled down to a russet glow. The amber ran over him in spiralling, swirling waves and was tinged just very slightly at the edges with his own forest green, tinged by the contact and the emotion, a shared passion.

It was utterly mesmerising. 

And somehow a perfect blend.

A balance. 

**A/N – One chapter left and I want to once again thank everyone for the amazing support and hope that this ends as well as I hope it to **


	17. Wings of fate - any other ending

**“There goes our love again, forgive my heart, forgive my heart**

**There goes our love again, elate my heart and take the time, that's burning at the back of my mind, cause I'm broken and blind and holding up the jaw of desire…**

**Home is a desperate end, cocoon my heart, cocoon my heart and carry me to love again**

**Cocoon my heart and bring me calm, hushing out the fear and alarm, I know you're open and armed, just trying to pick my feelings undone.” – ‘There goes our love again’ - White Lies**

When Percival awoke it was to warm midday sunlight that bathed both him and his lover as they lay curled upon the bed and wooden floor respectively; Newt looked cold and sore where he lay, curled around his flopped open sketchpad and clad in only his pyjama bottoms. Oil pastels, pencils and sticks of charcoal lay scattered about him, sheets of crumpled and straightened paper too, most of which contained blurs and stains of colour that hazed in Percival’s sleepy vision. The nearest ones, the ones contained within Newt’s slumbering arms and pressed into the sweet, slightly sweaty sides of his face, were near completion by the looks of things, warm oaken colours highlighting handsome, flattering features that Percival only abstractly recognised as his own. It was as if Newt had transformed him into some fey, ethereal creature with the strokes of his colour and shaping of his lines – a coppery glow illuminating sharp, chiselled features that half-glowed in moonlight and a soft, russet sheen surrounded his eyes without overpowering the image set upon the planes of his chest and blanket-shrouded body. It was astonishing to see the way that Newt now perceived the world – how he perceived Percival – even if this perception had been forced on Newt by a man who could barely even be graced with that word. A beast so foul and utterly demented that Percival could not even think of him without his blood singing its way faster through indolent veins, waking him up swiftly and more effectively than any amount of coffee ever could.

He slid up in the bed, only pausing to slip on a pair of abandoned pinstriped trousers before carefully stepping onto the wooden floor around Newt. He picked up some of the half-crumpled designs and frowned as he saw the fiery copper of distress that surrounded these. There were quite a few of them, illustrations which Newt began and then cast aside, smeared in angry, frenzied, distressed colours that half-obscured Percival’s image – the American recognised their likely cause: his night terrors. There had been many, after all, and he wasn’t surprised to find that Newt had witnessed them if he was as restless as he often had been. Sleep was something that had historically proven to be dangerous for Newt and turning to his sketchpad or creatures was a familiar behaviour to calm him. It concerned Percival to witness the proof that Newt had seen his agitation and not attempted to rouse him -- or maybe he had, Percival was a notoriously dangerous person to wake from ill dreams. He smirked very slightly to himself as he remembered pinning Theseus to his seat when the fellow Auror had tried to wake him when they had been seated at Dumbledore’s table together years before. The look of shock on the other man’s face had almost been worth the embarrassment he had felt for losing it in front of an international colleague he had barely known at the time. 

Percival forcibly expelled the thoughts from his mind and set about scooping the young Magizoologist up in his arms, revelling in the added tone to his lightly tanned form, taking solace in the idea that time and location had allowed Newt to recover somewhat. Physically, at least. Morgana’s floppy left tit knew what was going on in the Brit’s head right now. Not even that bastard Grindelwald would know now, or at least, that’s what Percival hoped was true – he hoped that this was truly the end of whatever deplorable bullshit both he and Newt were going to be forced through. He relished the feeling of Newt’s soft form curling into his own as Percival settled them together upon the window seat, the younger man nuzzling his way into Percival’s bare abdomen and smiling unconsciously. He couldn’t help but fondly, if traumatically, remember the feeling of Newt curled up warm and safe under his wolf self’s side, pinned but protected.

The Auror ran a hand through Newt’s sunlit curls, appreciating the softness and the soft sigh the motion drew from him before a fierce line of disturbance formed between Newt’s brows. There was barely a twitch of warning before Percival had the forethought to expect a dramatic reaction: he threw up a shield that absorbed the blasting spell Newt sent his way. Percival was thrown back into the bay window frame but thankfully it was only a few inches behind him, so the impact was mild. He tried to smile encouragingly at Newt as the younger man’s green eyes flew open, hazed and fierce before they focussed on him properly and the powerful force relented.

“It’s alright, Newt, sweetheart, it’s just me. Open your eyes, you can see it’s just me,” he carded firm fingers through Newt’s hair until his breathing slowed and he moved of his own volition, eyes focussing on Percival’s bare forearm and whilst it wasn’t exactly a perfect awakening, it was still preferable to the panic-induced magic seizure that had preceded it.

“Ah…bugger…sorry Perce.”

“It’s alright,” he replied mildly and Newt winced as he sat up, likely sorely from falling asleep or falling to the floor at some point during the night or morning. “My sleep wasn’t exactly restful either despite the company or…exercise beforehand.”

It was true, his sleep, as had the fortnight before, had been taunted and terrified by every second of what that slithering, slimy, loathsome shit had done to the wide-eyed, quirky, wonderful beauty before him. It was one thing to hear from Newt or even Grindelwald of the actions or words that were spewed but to feel it as the rapist had – not just as he pretended to Newt, that he had only seen or heard it – no, it had been much more personal than that. Grindelwald’s bond had lasted until the very moment that he had released within Newt and Percival had been stuck there for every abysmal second. 

It had been his hands that stripped Newt.

His hand that stabbed the dagger deep into his chest and carved cruelly until he found his heart and violated it.

It had been his tongue that had fucked the bloody, salty wound inflicted by another.

His cock that had fucked Newt against his will no matter what words were said by Grindelwald to convince him otherwise. 

Words that came from joined lips. That violated Newt’s lips.

He had spent days and fruitless nights attempting to scrub all of that from his eyes, his ears, his body, his lips – his very being – and with little success. It had only been seeing Newt again that had helped to calm his ravaged heart. To see him so…normal. On edge, undeniably…off, but still himself. To see that despite it all, the magic that had been forced upon him was actually helping him be sure of something. That the auras or whatever they truly were, were helping Newt to feel safe in being around others – especially him.

That he put so much trust in Percival that he had allowed their darker impulses to finally run freer than they ever had before. That they had joined and felt ecstasy without unintentional fear.

Even now, what was shining in Newt’s eyes wasn’t fear but relief, and Percival slipped his arms back around the younger man, softly rubbing his back. It was the Auror who was trembling, not Newt. He had suffered his own nightmares but had not had the comfort of having awoken of his own accord from them, they had both flickered off into their own spheres of sleep, unaffected by one another even as they shared a common physical space.

“What is it?”

Percival started, looking down at Newt with surprise; the Magizoologist had stolen the words right from his mouth.

“I’m fine.”

Newt arched a brow and leant to put his bare back against the cool window glass, the sunlight highlighting his hair in an auburn haze that glowed and shifted messily when he scrubbed a hand through it. Percival stood, summoning his shirt from where it had been discarded and donned it, sighing before speaking. “It was just a dream, Newt and unlike you, I don’t have a history of having my dreams causing any great excess of damage.”

Newt exhaled irritably, speaking his name reprovingly, “Perce.”

The Auror held the other man’s gaze for a few moments more before sighing and relenting a little, knowing that maintaining their newfound level of trust in one another shouldn’t be tested by evading troubling matters so early on. “It was what happened. What I felt Grindelwald do. What he made both of us do. Feel.”

Newt’s brows furrowed and he stood, stepping forward and grasping Percival’s wrist, rubbing his thumb over the Auror’s pulse point, his frown growing deeper as he found the pulse thrumming faster than Percival wanted to let on. He was good at controlling his body’s reactions to distress or anger usually – had to be for the sake of his job – but when it came to Newt it seemed that all his usually unnoticed tells became that much more obvious. 

“What was it that got to you?”

Percival exhaled a bitter laugh, “Everything, there wasn’t anything that bastard did that wasn’t utterly-”

“No,” Newt cut in softly and Percival glanced up from their joined hands in surprise at the quiet admonishment as Newt continued, “There's always something. There’s always one thing that sticks. That itches. That comes to mind before anything else. A sight, a word, a feeling, a sound or smell. What was it for you?”

Percival paused for the longest time, the sunlight now working to shadow half of each of their faces, Newt’s floppy mop of hair casting a dim tint over that side, somehow reminding Percival that of all people, Newt wasn’t going to judge him poorly for how he answered. His voice came out quiet and slightly hoarse, “It was the similarities.”

“When he was pretending to be you?” Newt asked but Percival shook his head minutely.

“No, well…yes, that was-” he shuddered, “fucking awful at first but it was…it was more because even when he wasn’t pretending to be me, I could still see the similarities between us and…I hated it.” His head tilted of its own accord as he regarded Newt, almost in apology, “It felt like you saw something in both of us that was the same. It…reawakened a fear that I thought I had shaken myself free from – that the real reason people didn’t recognise the difference between me and him was because there was something that made us alike.”

“Perce, you’re no-…you’re nothing like him, not really, you must know that,” Newt looked strained, pained to the point of conflict and Percival felt guilt lick at his insides. “He copied some things he knew you…did with me because he knew it would get to you. To me. He recreated what he thought would work to-” it was Newt’s turn to shudder, the younger man gulping slightly, eyes blinking furiously though not, it seemed, to withhold tears, “-to make me like it, to love him.”

He gripped both of Percival’s hands firmly, gaze beckoning, “But it didn’t work and I know the difference between you. I always will. Even if this-” he waved his hand about Percival’s form in a vague gesture “-aura thingy wasn’t there I would know you from him. It might take longer but I would always figure it out. Not because I’m any cleverer or more perceptive than anyone else but because I know you and I…” he gritted his teeth “As much as I hate it, I know him too and I know that you _aren't_ the same.” 

Percival opened his mouth and Newt pressed an admonishing finger over his lips, unusually firm and his gaze deadly in its surety, “He’s a deluded, obsessive, sadistic, tyrannical, admittedly compelling, narcissistic prick and you are only one of those things,” he shot Percival a bitter grin, “Maybe two on a bad day, but you could say that of anyone.”

Percival smiled begrudgingly, “And what two would those be?”

Newt smiled at him coyly, “Well usually just obsessive, but I’ll admit you can be charming in your own right on occasion, too.”

“Cheeky bastard,” he sighed, slipping an arm around Newt’s waist, the Magizoologist pecked a kiss to his cheek chastely before he glanced over at the window and his eyes widened, scrambling from the room. The American was about to call out to him before it occurred that as it was nearly midday, Newt’s creatures likely were missing their carer – or at least the ones that required the attention. He sighed, brushing a hand through his spiky hair and taking his time getting dressed, taking the liberty of collecting a clean set of clothes for Newt to change into, folding them in a pile under his arm before he headed downstairs. Percival had to begrudgingly admit that the place was gorgeous – light, open, clean and well designed, even discounting the specially crafted spaces for the creature inhabitants. The white-wood-framed windows that went around the edge of the lower floor all showed off the stunning view, lake sparkling in the sunlight and lush green hills rising above it all. He could see dirt trails leading around the water and up into the hills, smiling as he thought of how much the landscape suited Newt.

He wandered to the kitchen, dropping the clothes on the scrubbed kitchen table as he set about scrounging up something to eat, he wasn’t usually one to sleep in late but his restless sleep, long hours and the previous night’s activities had all worked to compel the lie-in. Percival could imagine Newt running about the enclosures right now, apologising to everyone for his tardiness and break from routine as well as likely being showered with affection or admonishment from the various beasts. As he waited for some eggs to fry in a heavy iron pan upon the stove, he checked absently upon the state of his MACUSA pocket watch, feeling relief to see it had gone back down into the green level of moderate threat though it was still flickering rather indecisively on the edge of being a blue high alert. It was still an improvement though, up until the conclusion of the case with Grindelwald it had been permanently stuck in the orange and red zones.

Credence’s case was still unfortunately somewhat up in the air as the boy had yet to be confirmed as a non-threat even if he was in control of his Obscurus form and was dwelling in a safehouse enchanted by the fabulous fucking Albus Dumbledore himself. Percival trusted the teacher’s magic to be enough to contain him better than anyone else, should it come to it, but he still doubted Dumbledore’s intentions and motivations as much as he ever did. Percival had promised both himself and Picquery that he would keep an eye on the situation as much as his other duties allowed him to, and as much as was considered un-invasive so as to not overwhelm the boy or agitate him into another outburst. 

There was still upheaval from the British Ministry over both Scamander brothers, however; Theseus’ disappearance and subterfuge had aroused suspicion, and Newt’s stunt at the Ministry building along with his previous Ministerial misdemeanours had not been forgotten. MACUSA no longer considered Newt much of an active threat even after the events in New York two years before but the British were still unwilling to concede on the matter. There seemed to be so many necessary conversations that were due between them that prioritising them had become a necessary hassle, he would bring it up with Newt once he had returned from his morning routine.

It was an hour later, after Percival had given up and eaten his egg sandwich that Newt returned from the cellar rooms, the door dial clicking rapidly before he stepped out, muddy, slightly singed and still bare-chested. The smartly dressed Auror smirked and plucked a bit of straw from his hair as the Magizoologist passed him to wash his hands at the sink before gladly snagging a magically-preserved sandwich and a mug of tea. Percival’s coffee sat nearly finished before him and he huffed fondly as Newt chugged down the tea in one go, rinsing out the cup and filling it back with water before settling upon the counter with the sandwich, making an eggy mess of both his hand and face as he devoured it. 

“You know, Newt, I think that the food is actually meant to go inside your mouth and not around it,” Percival commented with an exasperated sigh and tried not to laugh as Newt stuck his tongue out at him before adding, “Or in your hair for that matter.” He couldn’t control his laughter as Newt flicked irritably, half-heartedly at his fringe, inspecting his hand and glaring at Percival as he discovered no crumbs.

“Prat.” 

Percival snorted and folded the newspaper he’d been reading in half, depositing it on the table before standing and stepping over to where Newt’s gangly legs hung off the edge of the counter. He reached forward with his monogrammed handkerchief and wiped the corner of Newt’s lips. The Brit’s tongue darted out and licked at the tip of Percival’s finger, he grinned unrepentantly as the Auror pouted slightly. He lowered his hand and fixed the younger man with a more serious expression. Newt caught on and slid from the counter, brushing his hands off on dirty trousers before picking up the clean ones and heading upstairs. Percival followed the Magizoologist until they reached the bathroom adjoining Newt’s bedroom – a black and white tiled affair complete with a full-length gilt mirror, toilet, sink and bathtub fitted with a shower. Newt glanced over his shoulder as he ran a bath, placing the clothes on the sink's edge, “Has something happened?”

Percival tilted his head, “The British Ministry wants to interview you, this coming Wednesday. It would be at MACUSA and I would be overseeing it along with an impartial advisor. Wouldn’t be more than an hour, and no charges would be levelled unless you admit to something so incredibly damning that they couldn’t ignore it.” He sighed deeply as Newt eyed him a touch doubtfully over his shoulder as he worked at uncinching his belt and stripping off his trousers. “They’ve been riding my ass for weeks on this one. They’ve got me checking in on Credence and that fucker Grindelwald too, but I’m not in much of a position to sort that out until Dumbledore is more forthcoming with his bloody permission.”

Newt slid into the bath, dunking his head under and re-emerging instantly, scrubbing a fierce hand through his wet hair, “I already gave my statement about Grindelwald’s imprisonment, didn’t I? Did they say exactly what they want to ask me about this time?”

“Well your stunt at the Ministry for one, your involvement in your brother’s plans, I’d expect, and I think they haven’t entirely given up on asking you about Grindelwald either,” Percival sat on the edge of the tub, looking down at Newt in earnest, “I’ll be there the whole time and if they start going too far, I’ll reign them in, I promise.”

Newt looked at him oddly as he rubbed a washcloth over one arm a bit absently, “I’m more worried about your reactions actually. You do tend to have a bit of a temper when it comes to Grindelwald and…well, me, to be honest.” 

“Newt, I’m a professional, I think I can handle-”

“What if someone brings up something...delicate? Something that upsets me? Or you?” Newt raised a sceptical brow that was surprisingly impactful considering the fact that the younger man was currently steeped in murky bathwater from the chest down. “You can go a little overboard and I don’t think that you hexing my interrogators will go down too well for either of us.” 

Percival gritted his teeth momentarily but mulled the words over nonetheless, “What if I stayed outside the room, merely observing without directly involving myself in the questioning? Would that make you uncomfortable?”

Newt considered it, scrubbing the flannel over his chest for a few moments and then nodded, “As long as you don’t come barging in at the slightest provocation.” 

“All right,” Percival agreed before adding, “But we should have some sort of signal – a word or motion that you should use if you want to stop for any reason.”

“Like a safe word?” Newt asked and if Percival didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn he saw a seductive smirk tracing the Brit’s lips as he turned his head to reach for some soap. Percival sighed, flicking water irritably though playfully at Newt and the younger man blinked it away, shaking his head rapidly and sending water flying everywhere, including over Percival’s carefully starched suit.

Newt turned to look up at him with a ridiculous goofy grin on his face, wet hair in complete disarray and plastered across his eyes, nose and forehead. Percival couldn’t help his laughter or the firm kiss he leaned down to press to the Magizoologist’s pouting pink lips. “You, Newt Scamander, are a clueless idiot and a bloody tease.”

“I can be both?” Newt giggled, withdrawing and cocking an eyebrow at him and Percival nodded very gravely indeed.

“Somehow, yes.” 

Newt snorted, ducking his head under the water to rinse off his head again before popping up again, rubbing his face and standing, dripping onto the tiled floor beside Percival. “So, about this safe word?”

“It’d have to be something you’re unlikely to say or do otherwise but also won’t sound so bloody obvious that they think you’ve lost your mind.”

Newt hesitated before venturing, “Cinnamon?”

Percival snorted, summoning over a fluffy white towel before scrubbing it over Newt’s curly head, the Magizoologist’s laughter muffled through the fabric as he pulled it off and began drying off.

“And how exactly would you manage to work ‘cinnamon’ into a conversation about Grindelwald or your brother’s antics?”

“I could tell them that Grindelwald was allergic to it,” Newt offered and Percival responded by crossing to the sink and throwing the pile of clothes at him. One sock fell from the tossed bundle and dropped into the bath, prompting a tutting sound from the Brit as he fished it out.

“Well if he were, at least he would’ve spent a lot less time around you unless he was as much of a masochist as he was a sadist,” Percival half-grumbled, half-growled and Newt snorted, drying off his sock and getting dressed.

“And how’d you figure that, exactly?” he asked, pulling up his trousers and braces, messily tucking in his shirt, “Without Jacob and Queenie around I haven’t really had the opportunity to be eating much cinnamon-based food.”

“And yet that’s somehow exactly what you smell like.”

Newt laughed lightly, slipping on a pair of fine leather boots, “I suppose it's like you and your fire-whiskey.”

“Oh?” Percival arched a dark brow at him as the Magizoologist brushed past him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom and over to the pitifully half-empty wardrobe by the mirror.

“Hmmm, yes, you always smell of the stuff even when you haven’t been drinking it,” he called his response over his shoulder as he went hunting through his minimal clothes supplies, “Impressive, really.” 

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted.”

“Best not be, I happen to like your smell,” Newt grinned over his shoulder at Percival as he dug through a pile of various - and frankly horrible – sweaters. His voice became muffled as he searched further into the pile, his pert ass sticking out and waving about rather unhelpfully for the sake of Percival’s attention, “It goes with your eyes…your aura too and-…bugger!”

He withdrew abruptly from the wardrobe and scowled around the room, Percival looking on in confusion, “What is it?

“I can’t find her,” Newt grumbled

“Can’t find who?”

“I made something for Edwin but I think she’s escaped again.”

Percival’s brows shot up “Escaped? _Made? _What in the name of Mercy Lewis is it?”

Newt rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, mussing his still-damp hair thoughtfully as he looked about the room, “Nothing dangerous, I’m just not sure where she could’ve got to,” he looked over at Percival, “You didn’t leave any doors or windows open in here, did you?”

Percival shook his head, eyes skating the room dubiously before landing in resignation upon the top of one of the curtain poles where a small wooden figure sat perched – one that did not match the carved badger on the other side. “Newt, did you get your six-month-old nephew a small dragon as a present?”

Newt nodded, turning to follow Percival’s line of sight and grinning before summoning the little creature to his hand where it flapped and roared indignantly in a tiny, though – Percival suspected – thoroughly realistic-sounding manner. He doubted Newt would’ve settled for anything less. “She can’t breathe fire and her talons and tail aren’t sharp at all. The wood is charmed not to break or splinter so there’s no risk of bits breaking off either,” Newt tilted his head to one side as he looked between the fluttering wooden dragon cupped between his hands and Percival’s dubious expression. “It was something I’ve been working on for a while and well...when I was carving the last bits of her face...she...um, came to life.”

At Percival’s raised brows he rushed, “I didn’t entirely mean it to happen, the magic kind of...I don’t know...leaked out. I was looking at her and thinking about the Ironbellies and the kits, how big they must be now, and she just came to life in my hands,” he laughed a little, “Scared the bloody hell out of me. Spent nearly an hour getting her back. That's twice she's escaped now.” his expression shifted a bit, complatative before he added, almost to himself "Can't seem to keep her anywhere she doesn't want to be for very long." 

Percival came closer, bending down to better examine the carefully carved lines and features of the dragon and little painted blue eyes blinked back up at him, the serpentine neck twisting to follow his movements as he regarded it...um her, he supposed. There was a silver-grey sheen of colour over dark wood that seemed to shimmer and darken as she moved. “She’s marvellous, Newt,” he smiled up at the Magizoologist through his eyes alone and was pleased when that smile was returned warmly, “I bet he'll love it.”

“Her eyes weren’t painted that way,” Newt said suddenly, a little dully as he regarded her, “Ironbellies don’t have blue eyes – they’re black when they’re born and then turn red as they mature.” He looked up at Percival with a puzzled, slightly hurt, almost apologetic look on his face, “Hers turned blue when she came to life but I don’t know why.” He sounded almost distressed and Percival stepped forward, concerned, pressing his own hands around Newt’s cupped ones though not too hard lest he bother the sentient wooden creature nesting in them.

Percival examined the eyes closely, seeing the bright colour, piercing and icy…it did remind him unnervingly of something else…_someone_ else, and his head jerked up sharply as the realisation came to him. He didn’t speak the name aloud but Newt’s guilty-looking eyes confirmed his suspicions and he had to take in a few deep breathes before asking, “Have you tried changing them?”

Newt nodded miserably, “I tried, a few times, tried picturing other people or creatures but nothing worked quite as I meant it to – not even on the others.” 

“Wait, what others?”

Newt’s expression turned more sheepish than guilty then and he stepped back, still cupping the dragon in his palms but jerking his head for Percival to follow as he clattered out of the room and across the landing to a room at the end. When he shouldered it open, Percival was not as surprised as he perhaps should’ve been to see a high-ceilinged room that defied the outward appearance of the house in its construction. It was like an owlery – tall and rounded with high wire-mesh windows that were currently closed and partially obscured by the swooping forms of many tiny winged beasts. There must’ve been at least eight of them and Percival was quick to shut the door behind them as Newt stepped forward, releasing the dragon in his hands to fly up to her brethren. 

“Newt, what the hell?” Percival asked, agape as the creatures came to land on the stone set of stairs that was set into the floor and led up to the heights of the tower-like structure “You made yourself a miniature dragon army?”

Newt laughed, grinning a little ruefully as he was swarmed by tiny wooden bodies of various colours and breeds. “Not quite, you see, well…it took me a few tries to get the final shape right and when the first one came to life I went back to see if I could fix my mistake with the eyes on the others before bringing them to life too,” he moved to rub an awkward hand through his hair before realising there was a dragon figure nesting in it and aborted the motion to stroke a finger over the golden creature’s tiny snout. Percival stepped closer and blinked as another set of familiar deep brown eyes blinked back at him from Newt’s shoulder where a more delicate formed pale rose-coloured beast. Salamander-like eyes as Newt would’ve called them.

“Tina?”

Newt flushed slightly and nodded, “I tried imagining different eyes on each of them and it worked but if I tried imagining nothing or just a more general colour it kept on going back to…his.” The Magizoologist nodded to the silver-grey dragon with a dampened expression but it brightened moments later when he saw a small black dragon – somewhat like a Hebridean Black - land on Percival’s shoulder. His flush deepened a little and the reaction prompted Percival to examine it closer, smiling a little bemusedly when he saw very familiar eyes looking back at him and he glanced back to Newt fondly. 

“Me?”

“Yep,” Newt admitted before gesturing around the group to each dragon in turn as they moved about the wizards and room.

“Queenie.” A slender lavender coloured female with green eyes that was settled on Newt’s right foot.

“Theseus.” An irritable-looking seafoam blue one with matching Scamander blue-green eyes that perched territorially upon Newt’s shoulder and glared at Percival with tiny eyes.

“Albus.” A slightly larger silvery-blue one that resembled a Swedish short-snout but with electric blue eyes, strummed through with silver undertones that sat upon the windowsill far above them.

“Harkaway.” Newt’s smile was rueful to the extreme as the dragon in question landed on Percival’s shoulder – a sangria one with clear green eyes and a pink underbelly.

“Oh, I am so not letting Harkaway live this one down.” Percival chuckled and Newt grinned, seeming to ease into the introductions a little before he pointed to another black form hiding in the rafters, higher, even, than the Dumbledore-dragon.

“Credence.”

Percival couldn’t see the eyes from here but he could see that the form was black and smaller even than Queenie’s one. He looked back at his partner in awe. “Newt, this is amazing. You managed to infuse your perceptions of people you know into inanimate objects and bring them to life.”

Newt tilted his head, looking conflicted, “It wouldn’t have been possible without his magic in me though. I’m not sure how I feel knowing that they were brought to life by it. It’s been useful, certainly, but I wasn’t trying to use it when I created them…it just followed my will whether I told it to or not,” he looked back at Percival, “Like when I healed you. It wasn’t intentional, it just did what I wanted to happen before I consciously decided on it. Instinctive magic can be dangerous.” He breathed out a sigh, “Especially magic this strong…I…I don’t want it taking control of me.”

Percival nodded softly, understanding Newt’s fear of corruption – power could change people and given the source of this particular power, he could understand more than anything why something like this would scare Newt. He looked over to the silver-grey female nuzzling into Newt’s neck with new worry and then a trace of amusement as a thought struck him, “That one is Grindelwald, right?”

Newt flinched but nodded, looking unhappy but petting the nuzzling creature with one finger nonetheless – more, Percival supposed, out of habit for loving any creature, no matter its origin.

“Then why is it female?”

Newt tilted his head as if he hadn’t really considered the thought before venturing, “I think…I think it may be because the females of the species are generally more dangerous amongst dragons.”

Percival cocked his head, brows furrowing, “Right,” he replied lightly before asking, “And what about the rest? Which of them are female and which are male? How would you know?”

“The forms of each species’ gender are slightly different and I have a…I don’t know, sense, of which are which.”

“And?”

“Well, um, the ones that resemble Theseus, Harkaway, Queenie and Tina are all males,” Newt laughed a bit nervously and Percival’s brows climbed ever higher, “Albus, Gel-...Grindelwald and you-…your one, that is, are females.”

“You see me as dangerous?” Percival asked, feeling something clenching in his gut, “As dangerous as they are?”

“No!” Newt interjected quickly before relenting slightly, “Well, sort of, I don’t know how to explain it but…well, you, you have a vein – in your aura that’s…different from the rest and it’s sort of, _very, very_ vaguely…um, similar…”

“Newt,” he said his name in quiet reprove, knowing that the younger man was skating around something and Newt sighed before admitting, with some shame, “Female dragons are also more…possessive of their mates,” his expression became pained, “There are some breeds that have been known to…uh eat their mates if they attempt to copulate with others,” he looked from the one perched on Percival’s shoulder to the one on his own and then up to the one perched high above.

Percival chewed the revelation over for a little while, understanding Newt’s reasoning – unintentional or not – before he too looked up to the blue-eyed dragon on the sill above them. “I…get why you might’ve seen me or him in that way, but what about Dumbledore?”

Newt flushed a little but looked up as the violet-veined dragon flew down to land on the same shoulder as the silver-grey skinned one, both pausing before the blue-eyed one nuzzled itself cautiously into the outstretched wing of the silver dragon. Though the motion - perhaps another unintentional expression of Newt’s magic and thoughts - in part answered Percival’s question, Newt voiced it aloud anyway as he watched the two settle together upon his shoulder with an equally troubled and fond expression upon his face.

“Some creatures just aren’t willing to let go of something even when they know they should,” his voice dropped to a murmur, “even if it hurts them both,” his eyes grew hollow, “even if ending them would be the better choice.”

In that, Percival could most certainly agree.

But there was something in all this that they were both ignoring, skirting around it like a crack in the ice and though he was hesitant to voice it, he knew that it was another one of the overdue conversations. That needed to be undertaken.

At first, he wasn’t sure how to begin but then he looked down to the two vibrant dragons nestled together into Newt’s neck – the representative forms of two men who had caused Newt little but harm – and then to the eyes…he knew how to broach it. 

“Newt”

There must’ve been something in the way he said the name that caught Newt’s undivided attention as that was precisely what he got as tainted-green snapped up to him, “How can those eyes not bother you? How can mine? Aura or no aura, Grindelwald…he hurt you, he made you react to it and he stole a part of me to do it.”

“Perce, I’m not sure if I can do this right-”

“Newt,” again, his tone was patient and deliberate, eyes apologetic but firm “Please, just give me some clarity here, I need-…I need to know what’s going on up there,” he tapped Newt’s forehead with two gentle knuckles, brushing slightly damp curls aside to better see Newt’s face, pulling back the curtain of hair that the Magizoologist often hid behind.

“It’s…clearer,” Newt decided, voice uncertain but eyes firm as they rested upon Percival’s outstretched arm, seeming to use it as an anchor point. “There’s less…interference than there was before. I still get flashes, reminders of what happened and surges of shame and pain and every other damn thing that he made me feel.”

He twitched slightly, one arm curling reflexively around his middle and dislodging one dragon upon his arm that flew off elsewhere at the squirming of his perch. Percival didn’t look to see which one it was. Stern brown eyes focused on Newt’s crumpling face, the slight hitch in the movements of his chest as he breathed deeply, eyes slipping closed slowly before flicking open again at the last second, like he was trying to abstain from falling asleep. Percival, worried that he’d just broken some sort of dam, took Newt by the arm, gently guiding him over to sit at the foot of steps. Percival settled the Magizoologist down beside him and curled an arm around him, trying to ignore the tiny, tenacious passengers that rode upon the shoulder that wasn’t pressed into his chest. Newt blinked a bit before looking at Percival again.

“I’m alright, Perce. I promise.”

“Newt, just telling me that isn’t quite going to cut it this time around. Not like before. I saw-…I saw your face while it was happening, I saw in your eyes how much you didn’t want what was happening even if he made you react. I saw how you were trying to resist it even though you knew it would only make it worse to try and stop him from-” he cut himself off with a ragged gasp, not meaning to go as far as he had and flinching as Newt’s eyes sharpened abruptly.

“Tried to stop him from what? From buggering me on a damn table in front of you? While you were in absolute agony? For me to get off on him having his cock up my arse while you were in danger? To ask him _not_ to stop even as he tore me up inside? To come on your face because I couldn’t control myself enough to spare you _anything_?!” His voice started quietly furious but grew in volume until even the dragons on his shoulder seemed to sense his agitation as they nuzzled deeper against his collarbone.

Newt truly shocked him then by brushing the creatures off. Actually rejecting the affectionate attempts of comfort from a creature. Even one made by the magic of the man who violated him.

Percival stared, open-mouthed as the two vibrantly coloured beasts roared at Newt in tiny, indignant voices before flapping off to nest higher in the tower, the Auror watched as Newt stood, unfolding his lithe body fluidly even in his anger. Percival reached out to catch his arm but froze when one of the lower windows smashed dramatically, the wire mesh blowing outward and glass flecking the floor around them. He didn’t try to reach for him again after the blast of unintentional magic. The Magizoologist paced a few steps away, turned, fists clenched, paced a little more and then faced Percival head-on, shoulders tense but expression immeasurably weary. 

“You don’t want to talk about this, Percival. Neither of us does. You just feel like you should because you’re worried I’m going to break down on you again,” he sighed a bitter laugh, “Or run again.” His head tilted sadly, “But I won’t.” Newt stepped closer and Percival remained silent as he sensed the hiss of pressure releasing from the man before him, the steady escape of pain after an initial burst. “Having you there, having you see that…see me and _him_ like…_that…_it helped, just a little, to make it feel like you could…like you could’ve seen that. Me at my worst and still…still want me. To understand what it’s like.”

His voice dropped so soft and quiet then that Percival almost didn’t hear the next words that dropped from his lips, “I know…I know you felt it…what it was like to do what he did to me….it was how the bond between the two of you worked, wasn’t it? I suspected he’d…he’d try something like that but….I’m sorry that you had to endure that even if it…helped me deal with it better, to know that you were there…that I wasn’t alone.”

Percival felt like it was his heart that had been carved into now, that Newt had pulled the stitches from his own damaged organ and implanted them into Percival’s, drawing the two abused things tighter together…stitching what was left to create one battered, blistered, broken thing out of two damaged wholes. He stood, stepping forward and catching Newt’s elbows, pulling him forward, not quite embracing but holding him softly against his chest and feeling the mirroring, erratic thump, thump, thump between them both. The Auror’s lips curling into the smallest of smiles when both of their hands almost simultaneously moved up to press flat against one another’s chests, feeling that rhythm.

Newt’s forehead pressed against his own, collapsing slightly forward, hands pinned awkwardly between them but neither going to move from the position, the semblance of structure and sanity. Percival spoke equally as softly, raised voices unrequired when they were so very close. “And I’m sorry that you realised that...I’m sorry that I ever felt what it was like to do that to you and to feel it…through him. But if you truly took any sort of solace – however small – in me being there…then…maybe it wasn’t the worst it could’ve been…maybe we should not worry as it’ll only make us suffer it all over again.”

It seemed like an inadequate thing to say, a way to phrase it, but in situations like this, when there had been so much verbal blood spilt between them, so many wounds torn anew by the discussions they had, the confessions and the contact…it felt like all he could do. 

Newt’s lips curved where they were pressed to the ugly scar that cleaved his brow, smiling into persistent pain as he was so very practised at doing by now. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**“Spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams, cause recently mine have been tearing my seams. **

**I sit alone in this winter clarity which clouds my mind, alone in the wind and the rain you left me, it's getting dark darling, too dark to see. **

**And I'm on my knees, and your faith in shreds, it seems…and I'm on my knees and the water creeps to my chest. **

**…But I will hold on, I will hold on hope**

**I begged you to hear me, there's more than flesh and bones, let the dead bury their dead, they will come out in droves, but take the spade from my hands and fill in the holes you've made**

**But plant your hope with good seeds, don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds, rain down, rain down on me.” – ‘Thistle and Weeds’ – Mumford and Sons**

Newt held Edwin at arm’s length and both regarded one another silently, one in awkward apprehension and the other in Merlin only knew what.

"So, um, how’s the talking coming along?"

Edwin remained silent.

"And the walking?"

Edwin remained silent except for a slight gurgle in the back of his throat.

"Most creatures learn to walk, swim or fly straight away. Humans are rather useless in that respect for the first couple of years."

Edwin gurgled again.

Pickett came across the arm of the chair he was sat upon in the new Scamander aspect of the family’s sitting room and seemed to catch the infant's attention immediately with big round blue-green eyes. He babbled again and reached out one tiny fist to the little green creature which the Bowtruckle regarded with confusion before looking to Newt for guidance. Newt stared between the two, just as baffled as the Bowtruckle.

Tina giggled from her spot by the fire, Theseus and Percival standing nearby watching on in almost as much bafflement as Newt but also with a great deal of amusement at the somewhat terrified expression on Newt’s face as he held the oddly still form of Edwin. He had grown a great deal since the day of his birth – as one might expect – and was now a surprisingly substantial weight in the Magizoologist’s awkwardly cradled arms. Edwin was pale, the beginnings of light freckles speckling the end of his nose and under one eye, eyes that matched the shade of Theseus’ almost exactly except for the small flecks of shifting Salamander-like effect that Tina’s held. In the right light, the specks of brown seemed to dominate his eyes, becoming more apparent and casting his also Tina-like curve of a nose into softer focus. The hair he had to speak of so far was pale, wispy and slightly auburn in the firelight. He was wrapped up tight in a green-knit blanket overtop a blue set of overalls that had apparently been sent from Queenie and Jacob in Paris.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to insult my son before he’s even learnt to clobber you about the head for being a cheeky sod, Newt,” Theseus’ miffed voice came from across the room, swiftly followed by an exaggerated ‘ouch’ as Tina smacked his thigh admonishingly from where he sat on the arm of her armchair. His elder brother had an arm curled comfortably around his fiancé’s shoulders and both looked happy and thoroughly exhausted.

“He knows quite a few words actually,” Tina explained to Newt, looking wearily proud, a cup of coffee pressed tight to her dwindling baby belly, half-drunk, and lines upon her face that spoke of the toll of the past year more than her tone. Somehow, even her aura looked deflated and tired, still bright with a pale rosy hue “He knows ‘mama’, ‘sod it’, ‘Gravel’ and ‘Thus’.”

Newt blinked, “That’s a pretty impressive vocabulary for a child that’s less than a year old, isn’t it?”

Tina snorted before clarifying, “He only knows the last three because Theseus can’t control his potty mouth and because Ed struggles with Percival and Theseus’ names.”

Percival’s expression became indignant, “And why is my name coming up so often in conversation?”

Tina laughed again, glancing up at a lightly blushing Theseus, “Mostly cursing your name and everything to do with it.”

“Not that you don’t deserve it, Graves,” Theseus grumbled, and Newt could understand why Edwin might’ve heard it as ‘Gravel’ what with his young mind and his father’s mumbling tone “You haven’t exactly been much help with all the stuff that’s been going on, have you?” 

“We’ve had enough going on over here in the States without adding your Brit’s mess to it,” Percival replied, though in a lighter tone than he once might’ve, an apparent tension having released itself between the two squabbling men that Newt had not thought much on until now.

“Well, from what my sources tell me you’ve agreed to the interview I tried so bloody hard to get Newt out of for so long.”

This time the glare was a little closer to genuine disapproval and Newt shifted Edwin a little in his arms before interjecting, “I agreed to it, Thee. We’ve got things all sorted out, though I might appreciate a pointer or two on what you do or don’t want me to say.”

It proved a successful diversion for his brother’s irritation as Theseus turned to him, pausing momentarily before replying, “Obviously, no mentions of being in contact with me or Tina, but I don’t think playing entirely dumb will help either.” He uncrossed his legs, reaching over to take a sip from his tea before adding, “I know this won’t be…easy, but if you could distract them with something more…Grindelwald-related, it might make them lose focus on the topic of me and Tina.”

Newt nodded after a few moments of consideration, noticing Percival’s eyes narrow at his brother almost imperceptibly even as the Magizoologist answered, “That, I can do. I think they’ll probably focus more on that anyway after how the last time Grindelwald was imprisoned turned out.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Theseus replied crisply, “I’m not asking you to…go into any detail and I don’t know who they’re going to send but just…be careful.”

“I know,” Newt said softly and Edwin took that moment to vomit upon Newt’s front. Tina was up in a moment, rushing over and taking the now grumbling infant from his lap as Theseus did a very poor job of hiding his amusement.

Tina got back at him by handing Edwin over to him and saying in a firm tone, eyes hard and unimpressed, “I took Ed last time; I think it’s about your turn now, isn’t it?”

Theseus ducked his head and took the apparently nicknamed Ed from the room and thump of feet on stairs could be heard. Tina grimaced as she turned back to Newt, “Sorry about that. We’ve all been feeling a bit cooped up stuck in the same house for weeks on end with Ed, he’s almost as much of a handful as your brother is.”

“I’ll bet,” Newt replied with a rueful grin as he cleaned the baby sick off of his clothes with a quick spell, and then another when the smell didn’t quite go away with the first one, “He was pain enough in his fourth year at Hogwarts when he was invalided home before term started with Mumblemumps. Wouldn’t shut up, and my parents got so fed up with his grumbling that they locked him in his room.” He shook his head ruefully, “Unfortunately we happened to share a room at the time.”

Tina winced with a tired smile, “Mercy Lewis, at least now he gets called away occasionally.” Her expression fell a little, fine brows creasing, “Though each time he does, I get more and more worried that’s he’s not going to make it back.”

Newt stood, stepping over and offering a gentle rub of her arm, “As much of an idiot as he seems, Tina, I think that he’s taking this seriously enough that he is going to always make it back to you if he can.”

Percival laughed a little behind her and added another comforting hand to the witch’s other arm, “You’ve already seen how stupidly overprotective he is with Newt; do you really think he’d let anything happen to you or Ed?”

“No,” Tina admitted softly but then pointed out, “It's not always going to be in his control is it, though? There’s no guarantee that any of us will live through all that’s happening even with Grindelwald out of the way.” Her brows furrowed “I still have a job to do if they’ll take me back and once Theseus is finished with this mess of his, I’m damn well going to do it. But that doesn’t mean that either of us will be any safer for it.”

Newt ducked his head in concession, not knowing how to reply to that. Tina was right, and Percival, too, seemed a little stumped past the bland, hollow-sounding placations they could offer. Tina regarded both pensively before speaking a bit hesitantly, “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you both.”

“What is it?” Percival asked and Tina flushed just very slightly.

“I know it seems like a big thing to put on both of you, but I was wondering – both of us were – if you could be Ed’s godfathers?”

Newt blinked and Percival looked equally baffled before the former offered, “Well, I, uh, I don’t know if I would be a…good choice for that, really.” He was thinking back to his half-bumbled duties as Jacob’s best-man and was struck by a perhaps irrational terror of nearly losing Edwin to the Nifflers as he had the rings, only praying that Percival would be there to salvage the situation as he had done before. Also considering the…scrambled state of his and Percival’s temperaments and shaky, passion-scattered beginnings of a more domestic relationship. 

“Nonsense, Newt, you’re one of the most caring people I know, you have a decent enough grasp of useful magic, have a safe house – for now at least - and you’re already his uncle. I know you’d always do your best for him. I can’t think of anyone else I would rather have doing it. The both of you.”

“But why me too?” Percival asked, expression inscrutable and Tina smiled patiently, as if the two men were being painfully slow.

“I think between the two of you – if anything were to happen to me and Theseus - you could do a good job of raising him. Newt is related by blood and has experience with taking care of young creatures even if they’re usually of the furry or scaly kind,” she smiled indulgently at Newt, “And besides, Queenie can’t exactly be expected to look after my son as well as her own child, now can she? I think she’d end up frazzled in less than a week.”

“She’s pregnant?” Newt half-squeaked before clearing his throat and adding in a more normal tone, “How long?”

“Only four months from what her letter said, but she’s thrilled,” Tina smiled fondly, “Jacob apparently said he hopes it’s triplets though how much of that is actually what he said, I can’t be sure.”

“Well…bugger,” Newt managed, both Americans laughing at his expression as he processed how domestic and melodramatic things had gotten in the space of only a few weeks since that hellish nightmare-scape of the Graves’ Manor. It was such a dramatic shift in tone he thought he was getting whiplash again. 

“So?” Tina prompted, “What do you say?”

Newt considered it, realising that if anything ever did happen to his brother and Tina, he wouldn’t ever feel comfortable with anyone taking care of their child except possibly Queenie and Jacob – but if they were really so sure of asking him and Percival…it felt right. He could almost picture it, the idea of himself and Percival in some near future, raising a child, teaching him how to behave amongst beasts and guiding him through his years until he got to Hogwarts and went through his education to become a person in his own right…to feel that he’d brought back a bit of good into the human species for once instead of putting his creature friends first.

Tainted-green eyes found big baby blue-green that were fixed on his own feet and he smiled just a little before nodding, rocking on his heels and rubbing a hand through his hair before answering with a surprisingly sure if quiet, “Yes.”

“Percival?” Tina prompted, turning to her boss who started a bit at being addressed before he smiled reassuringly.

“I’d be glad to, Tina. I think someone would need to stick around to keep Newt from trying to teach Edwin how to fly before he can even walk.”

Tina nudged his arm almost playfully though blushing furiously and Newt was prompted to remember that his friend had once had quite a shine for his partner and smiled softly to himself at the school-girl like reaction, “Don’t wish us gone quite so soon, sir.”

Percival arched a disapproving brow at her and she sobered quickly before he replied: “I’m wishing no such thing, Tina, but I mean what I say when I tell you that we’ll do our very best to take care of Edwin if anything happens to you or Theseus.”

“Thank you,” Tina said, “you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“To us,” Theseus corrected, slipping an arm back around her waist from behind and holding a now cleaner and happier looking Edwin at his hip with the other. He met his brother’s eyes with genuine gratitude, “Seriously, Newt,” he glanced over to Percival, unusually serious and open, “Graves, it’s taken a weight off our minds to hear you agree to this. We don’t know what’s going to happen and I don’t think we can trust anyone outside of this family.” 

Newt offered a frail, fragile smile through his fringe, “Just try to keep out of trouble, Theseus, and you’ll never have to worry about it.”

“Likewise, idiot,” Theseus grinned at him before he looked over Newt’s shoulder at something, frowning and carefully watching whatever it was with suspicion, “Newt, I don’t mean to alarm you but your bag seems to be moving again.”

Newt blinked and then grinned, moving back to where his leather satchel lay, leaning over and reaching in, catching the squirming, flapping inhabitant before turning to show his brother, sister-in-law-to-be and nephew the minuscule form of a turquoise dragon with bright, Salamander-like eyes. Newt almost dropped the little model however when Ed let out a loud shriek and he was about to hide it away again, worried that he’d scared the infant when he found himself blinking dumbly in surprise. Instead of bawling or hiding into his father’s chest, Ed was reaching out a pudgy little hand toward both Newt and the little dragon version of him, eyes bright and interested and toothless mouth wide in what could be called a beam.

“Newt, what in the name of Merlin’s saggy left testi-”

“THESEUS ARCHIMEDES SCAMANDER!” Tina’s near-roar of reproof had everyone in the room minus Edwin and the dragon cringing, though Percival was more focussing upon smirking at Theseus with a mouthed repetition of his middle-name and a snort of laughter than had the elder Scamander glaring.

Newt stepped closer, holding the smallest dragon figure firmly in his grip but releasing the creature’s tiny wings so that he could stretch and flap them, something that seemed to delight Ed to no end as he gurgled a giggle and clapped his little hands in a mimicking action. Theseus seemed to recover from his ringing ears as he looked between his brother, son and the dragon before mouthing deliberately silent curse words, “…and all the bad luck that came with it! Don’t tell me for all the stars in the sky I ended up with another Newt!”

The Magizoologist in question smiled sheepishly, a little apologetically though then with interest and encouragement as Edwin reached his socked foot out and effectively patted the dragon on the wing in what was a funnily close approximation of a dragon’s greeting. Newt looked up at his brother with a rueful grin, “He seems to know what he’s doing.”

Theseus sighed heavily and Tina grinned, “At least one of us does.”

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The interview went…better than Newt expected, but still not entirely to the plan that he’d made with Percival, Theseus and Tina on the afternoon four days prior at their safehouse. It hadn’t been exact but at least it’d been something to work with. He’d even had the arguable advantage of having Harkaway as the ‘impartial’ witness to the proceedings, which he supposed had been Percival’s substitute for being in the room himself. Newt had sat down in the interview room – one bitingly similar to the one that Grindelwald had interrogated him in years before under the guise of Director Percival Graves. He hadn’t been restrained and whilst Harkaway hadn’t been making his usual lewd jokes or comments, he had offered Newt a small bolstering wink before the interrogator had entered.

“Mr Scamander,” the interrogator had greeted him crisply in a dull Valley accent, equally dull grey eyes roving over Newt in an assessing though dismissive manner, “The younger,” he amended, and Newt caught Harkaway’s eyes narrowing slightly at the man’s back from where he stood opposite Newt.

“Yes,” Newt confirmed as the bland-looking man sat his dark-robed form down in the seat opposite him, eyes immediately going to the folder in front of him - a common and rather petty intimidation tactic meant to unnerve Newt and to make him feel more affected when the man’s gaze would inevitably rise to him. Newt almost laughed but kept his expression blank.

“I am Senior Interrogator Pavus Wright and from here on in I expect no speaking other than to answer my questions directly, is that understood?”

Newt nodded and then answered verbally when he saw the end of the man’s quill twitch in an irritated manner, “Yes, I understand.”

“Very well, now I understand that you have already given my colleagues a cursory statement upon the alleged detainment of the dark wizard and terrorist known as Gellert Grindelwald – erstwhile founder and director of the ‘Greater Good’ movement.”

Though it wasn’t phrased as a question, the man looked up at him expectantly and Newt nodded again, “Yes.”

“And you claim that you have no affiliation to said movement?”

“No, I don’t, as I said before, I’m not one of his fanatics.”

“Yet you recognised him in your encounter in New York in December of 1927?”

“Yes.”

“And then were captured by him in February of the following year?”

“Yes.”

“And tortured?”

Newt swallowed slightly but nodded “…yes.”

“What was the nature of this torture precisely?”

Newt swallowed again, throat feeling thick and was about to answer when Harkaway cut in, “Is this an entirely relevant question, Interrogator Wright?” his tone was even and the interrogator did not turn but Newt could see a slight tension in Harkaway’s brows.

“Yes, Auror Harkaway, it is. So that I might ascertain the reliability of his testimony.”

Newt cleared his throat, drawing both men’s attention back to him as he answered as steadily as he could, “The Cruciatus Curse, branding, electrocution, lashes…amongst others.”

“Others?” Wright prompted, expression dull and Newt flinched just a little before he replied

“Mind games, mainly. He attempted the Imperius curse upon me but I broke free of it.”

“So, you would say that you were of solid mind to act as witness to Albus Dumbledore’s initial defeat of Mr Grindelwald?”

Newt nodded again, “I know that he was defeated and imprisoned, yes, I…was not conscious during the duel itself, but I’m sure that both Director Graves and Professor Dumbledore can attest to the outcome.”

“But I’m not asking them, am I, Mr Scamander?” The man’s voice was oily and petulant and Newt found himself narrowing his eyes slightly at the man, raising them from where they had been examining the man’s dull grey shoulder with fixated impersonality.

“No, though I can’t help but feel that you already know the answers I’m giving you word for word as they’re written down on the file you’re drilling a hole into with your eyes.”

Wright’s eyes finally snapped up to meet his with obvious irritation, “I do not appreciate flippancy, Mr Scamander.”

“Nor I redundancy, Interrogator Wright,” Newt replied evenly, a tad dryly, gaze meeting the taller man’s head-on until his lip curled.

“Very well, let us move on to the more pressing issues then, shall we?” he spoke in an increasingly unctuous tone, “Being that of how you have been discovered in the intimate company of Gellert Grindelwald on no less than six occasions in various locations across the globe over the space of the last two years.”

Newt shifted a little on his chair but kept his tone and gaze steady, “The relevance of which is?” he asked in a very slightly strained manner.

Wright almost huffed, “The relevance _being, _Mr Scamander, that you have been witnessed dining and conversing – _canoodling_ even – with a man you claim imprisoned and tortured you, How exactly do you wish to justify that if not as being in league with the man and his cause?”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the concept of being in another’s company under duress?” Newt asked pointedly as he fished about in his mind for an explanation less damning than the blood-bond, unbreakable vow and everything that occurred in between. It wasn’t really his place to discuss any of it and it wouldn’t help absolve him of anything – it would likely only raise more questions.

Wright frowned severely at him, “So you claim that your...amicability with a notorious and internationally wanted criminal can be explained away by threats upon your life? Not a particularly original approach, Mr Scamander.”

“Not only my own,” Newt corrected and then cursed himself internally, knowing the tactic of having people correct them in order to reveal information. He gritted his teeth slightly as Wright instantly jumped on his slip up.

“Your brother then? Or your case of illegal creatures?”

“Amongst others,” Newt admitted

“And who might those be?”

“It would take quite some time to list all my friends, acquaintances and most everyone that I’ve happened to be in the proximity of in the past two years.”

“So, Mr Grindelwald’s threats were of a more general nature, then?”

“Surely you are aware of his reputation for exhibitionism and excessive violence?” Newt countered, once again evading answering the specifics but then feeling a chill run through him at the man's next question.

“And what was the precise purpose of his interest in you, Scamander?”

Ah, they were at the heart of it now and whilst Newt had practised answering this particular question with Percival and Theseus, he still felt his scarred heart thumping that bit quicker in his chest, “My creatures, I suppose. I believe that he wished to recruit me.”

“Simply because of a bunch of beasts he could’ve gotten anywhere? That he could’ve merely stolen from you in that case of yours?”

Newt was ready for that one as it was a logical step forward, “Well, magical creatures require quite a bit more careful handling than all that. I believe that Grindelwald knew this and sought my assistance on the matter. I refused.”

“And what of the reports that claim you and Mr Grindelwald were involved in a more...intimate manner?”

Newt shuddered very slightly but hid it with a shrug and a shake of his head, “Grindelwald also expressed a more...personal interest in me due to my acquaintance with Professor Dumbledore – I do not doubt that you are aware of their previous association, and I believe Mr Grindelwald was curious as to my connection with him.” It was true, to a degree, albeit a very limited one. 

“How would you describe that relationship? With Albus Dumbledore, that is? How do you regard him?”

Newt’s eyes flickered downward, forcing back a very similar memory of being asked that question in a room just like this one.

_“And what makes Albus Dumbledore so…fond of you?”_

_Dark, deep, warm-whiskey eyes piercing him to the spot, chained in place and withering both under the stare and the fear for his creatures. _

_…._

_"What do you think of Albus Dumbledore? Do you truly trust him? What do you think of him as a person? And not just in terms of his morals." _

_Grindelwald was standing too close, too close, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t think, couldn’t push out of the fog of the Imperius…intimating that all he needed in life was to follow the man’s will and design…_

_But had _ _Newt ever really stopped? _

_When did it stop? _

_Did it? _

_…._

Newt blinked himself forcefully back into the present, eyes scanning the tabletop briefly before replying, “I see him as one might an old friend – valuable and dear – but one that consistently manages to disappoint exactly on time.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Wright demanded and Newt just looked back at him evenly as ever.

“Exactly what I said.”

Wright exhaled noisily through his hooked nose before changing tactics, “So you claim you have no sympathy for Grindelwald’s cause or the man himself?”

“No.”

“Yet there are those amongst my department claiming that Grindelwald butchered an ally of his in Berlin on your behalf as you attempted to steal the property of said ally – one Adalfarus Fuchs.”

Newt feigned confusion, brows knitting and eyes narrowed, “I’m afraid that I don’t understand. I was in Germany this year, yes, but I didn’t enter any cities as I was scouting the Bavarian mountains. There was an injured Hippogriff that I was taking care of at the time, you see.”

“So, you know nothing about the stolen Firedrakes, Chimaera or the significant battle that took place on the night of the 20th of February in a private wizarding club on the west side of Berlin?” 

Newt laughed a little, “I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice or your reports that I’m not exactly very sociable – private wizarding clubs aren’t really my forte and neither is willingly hanging about dark wizards or their zealous fanatics.” Feigning ignorance and concern, he paused before asking, “Are the creatures being well cared for? It’s not their fault that the man who caged them was a criminal so I do hope that they’ve been safely rehomed. I’d be willing to take them off your hands if the Ministry was still struggling to maintain them?”

He spotted Harkaway smirking just a little at his act and let a little humour of his own glimmer as Wright pressed his grey eyes shut, a pale yellow aura flaring red with irritation before the man answered: “We have been unable to locate them or detain the thief, Mr Scamander, and if we were to find them they would be put down humanely as Chimaera are highly dangerous as well as illegal.”

Newt didn’t have to fake the venom in the glare he sent the other man’s way but wisely did not protest further lest he lay the deception of not knowing that the creatures in question were very much safe and alive too thick. Instead, he waited for the next inevitable query.

Wright turned a page on the file and Newt found himself surprised and even a little unnerved to realise that the topic of Theseus had not yet come up and though he wasn’t going to tempt fate by asking why, it niggled at him.

“Whether or not you’ve been involved willingly with Mr Grindelwald’s activities, you cannot deny that you may well know more than most about him through exposure.” 

Oh, you have no idea, Newt thought but aloud he replied, “A little, though I’m not sure if any of it would be of any use to you.”

“Humour me,” Wright deadpanned.

“What exactly do you want to know?”

“You were not aware of his initial capture but from what I understand, you had a hand in his escape from the imprisonment that Mr Dumbledore enforced upon him?”

Newt’s head jerked up, “Who gave you that impression?”

Wright’s eyes narrowed, “Our sources are irrelevant to you, Mr Scamander. You should merely focus upon answering my questions.”

Newt sighed, irritated and slightly confused but answered nonetheless, hedging around the truth once more, “I – among others - was put under enough threat that Dumbledore decided, against my better wishes, that he should release Grindelwald.”

“And how was Mr Grindelwald able to threaten you from within such thorough bindings as would be required for someone of his magical stature?” 

Newt hesitated for long enough that Wright placed down his quill and looked at him patiently, “My department has given me leave to put Veritaserum into use should you refuse to answer my questions. This is a matter of international security and we cannot risk Grindelwald freeing himself in a similar manner as before, should you hold out on us.”

Newt paled, eyes flickering over to Harkaway who stepped forward even before Newt looked his way, “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

“And I don’t remember asking your opinion, Auror Harkaway. If Mr Scamander needs a little help loosening his tongue, then I have been authorised by the British Ministry to do so – within legal bounds of course.”

“But we don’t do things that way round here,” Harkaway’s voice was tense now as he saw Wright withdraw a small bottle of clear liquid from the pocket of his robes, the Texan’s sangria sunset aura flaring bright and ruddy for Newt’s eyes alone.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, then please leave the room. I don’t want anything interfering with the course of justice.”

Harkaway stayed exactly where he was, eyes flickering between Newt, Wright, the bottle and the solid wall to their left. Newt broke the tension by speaking, voice strained but mostly calm. Calmer than he felt at least, “It's alright, I’m happy to answer any questions - no prompting needed.” He swallowed a little thickly as he looked at Wright, “I would simply ask that the more…delicate parts of what I tell you remain on a need-to-know basis.”

Wright twirled the bottle between gaunt fingers before placing it down on the table with an ominous clink and sighing theatrically, “Very well, Mr Scamander, do continue.”

Newt scrambled for a few moments, eyeing the bottle before venturing, “Grindelwald made sure to link our minds shortly before Dumbledore defeated him – allowing him the ability to appear in my dreams even whilst he was imprisoned.”

The fawn-coloured aura flared subtly around Wright as he raised a pale brow dubiously, “Through Legilimency?”

“Of a sort,” Newt hedged

“But weren’t you giving me the impression that Mr Grindelwald’s interest in you was more of a professional curiosity – an interest bred of what you can do with beasts? Why would he expend a final act of magic upon keeping in contact with you unless you were an ally?”

“Because he knew it would hurt Dumbledore – he used me as bait before to draw Albus into a duel with him and he knew that continuing to hurt me would work as a revenge of sorts against us both for imprisoning him,” Newt once again reverted to his tactics of giving enough truth of the situation for it to be believable whilst evading the more damning articles and it seemed to work as Wright’s quill scribbled furiously.

“What was the nature of this connection? How long did it last? Is it still active?”

“It was a mental one,” Newt began “He would appear to me in my dreams and no matter what I did it wouldn’t stop. Potions, spells, herbs,” he laughed a little bitterly, “Even drink didn’t work but no, it is no longer active.” He paused, considering, “It stopped shortly after Grindelwald was released – that was the harm that was being inflicted that prompted Dumbledore to release him.”

“To ease your suffering?” Wright prompted, tone incredulous, “Dumbledore released the world’s darkest and possibly most powerful wizard to stop you having a few nightmares?”

Newt breathed a strained laugh, hands fiddling agitatedly in his lap and he didn’t look up at Wright as he replied sullenly, “Sounds awfully simple when it’s put like that but yes, that’s exactly what he did. It had gotten to the point that I was…becoming a danger to those around me and he sought to end it in the only way he saw he could.”

“A danger? In what way?”

“As I said before, Grindelwald was threatening people outside his cell and trying to get me to do his dirty work, it’s why it seemed like his followers had orders when he was locked up.”

“You admit to having followed his orders?” Wright pounced on the half-confession and Newt shook his head wearily, hands clenching in his lap, his own aura veining through more strongly with silver than ever now.

“No, you’re ignoring the part where I said he _tried,_” He wasn’t about to admit to the possession nor the things that Grindelwald had done whilst using his body but he also wasn’t sure how he could quite avoid it. Whilst also avoiding the ever-present threat of the little bottle on the table before him. He added, “I was considering giving in however simply so that I could sleep and so that some might be spared." He took in a steadying breath "However, I never intended for him to be released, probably would've fought better against it if I'd been...more myself.” 

“I don’t believe that you’re being truthful with me, Mr Scamander,” Wright sighed, as if disappointed, his fingers touched the edge of the bottle again.

“I told you, I’m no friend of Gellert Grindelwald. I despise the man and everything he stands for,” again, those words needed no prompting to be utterly truthful.

“Hmm,” Wright commented unhelpfully, “If what you say is true, you would be entirely willing to give us information that could be used to undo his terroristic work?”

Newt felt like the words were a trick of some kind but nodded al the same, “Yes, though, as I said, I don’t know much at all of his cause.”

“But given that you hold a relationship of sorts with both Mr’s Grindelwald and Dumbledore, you would be in a better position than any to discover more?”

“I’m sorry?” Newt asked politely, a tense feeling forming in his gut and fingers twitching agitatedly again.

“If we were to ask you to approach Mr Dumbledore with a request to speak with Grindelwald in his imprisonment – as you claim has occurred on many occasion – you might be able to get something out of him?”

Newt’s jaw tensed and a familiar grey, cold box of stone flashed uncalled for behind his eyes, “I…I don’t think that would do anyone any good, Mr Wright…for one thing, I doubt that Dumbledore would allow this, nor would my going near Grindelwald glean anything useful.” His heart was thumping loud in his ears, pounding poisonous memories and resurgences through his veins but he worked to keep himself calm, imagining the feel of Percival’s thumb caressing his own and mimicking it with his own hands in his lap.

He couldn’t handle the thought of seeing Grindelwald again, not so soon after what had happened – sending him in wouldn’t help, it would make things much worse and even if he were willing to do it, he doubted that either Percival or Dumbledore would allow it. 

“Mr Scamander, if you are unwilling to do this small favour for the common good of wizarding kind and the world at large, I have been requested to take you into custody for aiding and abetting Grindelwald and wilfully withholding valuable information that could save lives,” he tapped a long finger on the vial before him deliberately, “And as such, the liberal use of such verbal lubricants as Veritaserum would become the least of your concerns, I would imagine.”

Harkaway looked ready to step forward again but stopped himself at a slight shake of Newt’s head, but the Texan did not hold his tongue as he had his step, “Interrogator Wright, I’m afraid that you are overstepping your boundaries here. Mr Scamander is here of his free will and at your request, he has not been proven guilty of any crime in this instance. The agreement with MACUSA was that you would not attempt to press any charges and that Mr Scamander would answer your questions – which he has.”

“And with all due respect, Auror Harkaway, any bargain that may have been implied by my colleagues to your superior were made under the impression that Mr Scamander would be willing to aid the Ministry as was promised. His refusal to use his unique position to gather potentially life-saving information indicates that he is not as innocent as is being suggested.”

“What information would I be collecting, exactly?” Newt asked, throat slightly hoarse and Wright’s attention snapped back to him instantly though he did not take his finger from the bottle of Veritaserum.

“There are several objects and individuals of great importance that are believed to have been stolen, collected and held captive by Grindelwald in his quest for power and whilst the objects can be found in time whilst the criminal languishes in his cell, the people and creatures who have been taken may not be so fortunate.”

For the first time since the interrogation began, Newt straightened fully in his chair and he could’ve sworn he saw Harkaway close his eyes momentarily in defeat. Newt felt the fear of Grindelwald strumming through him as strongly as it had been the first time he’d clapped eyes upon the man’s real form but he also felt that righteous anger that had fuelled his attempt on the dark wizard’s life – an anger for innocent’s suffering. The idea that there were other people and creatures that might be locked away and suffering as a result of Grindelwald’s cause or even his personal spite triggered a fierce passion in him and he looked Wright directly in his bland grey eyes, seeing his faun aura shimmering in a closer tone to that of dirty sand at the abrupt shift.

“Just tell me who I need to ask about and I’ll do my best to get the information.”

“You’ll do it then?” Wright asked, looking simultaneously relieved and a touch disappointed as he returned the bottle of potion to his pocket. 

An idea occurred to Newt then and he offered a grim smile, “On one condition.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**“I'll build you a shiny dollhouse or church, for you to shrink into a tiny wight spider and gorge on horrid memories with conceited wings, smother the past in a cocoon for me and I'll help you move all the bodies.**

**I'll possess you but I don't need you to be another one of my possessions. **

**I don't need you to be my possession. **

**And I won't make you kneel for anyone but me, I won't promise a star, don't promise your soul, well say that we don't believe. **

**…I'll take you back inside, wrap my claws around your mouth tight, we'll consume each other until there's nothing left to hide and they can all drown in our blood.” – ‘Wight Spider’ – Marilyn Manson **

Grindelwald looked bored.

It was a familiar expression that Newt had seen upon the man’s irritatingly beautiful face a hundred times before in this very building before. It wasn’t the lowest level now, instead, the tower, a distant one imbued with a new level of magic that left Newt’s increased magical senses almost burning with how strongly layered the defences were. The new cell was practically glowing with Dumbledore’s blue-violet magic and it was both comforting and disconcerting to see that the restraints were strong even if it stung Newt like a violent wind to be near them. He could only imagine the effect it had had upon Grindelwald before in his near year of captivity under similar circumstances. 

It had been two days after the interview that he had finally managed to convince both Percival and Dumbledore to let him do this. Surprisingly enough, Percival had actually been the easier one to convince of the necessity as Newt suspected his Auror’s sense of diligence and common good dictated a concern for the welfare of the poor bastards left under Grindelwald’s influences. Also, perhaps, a feeling of comradery in it – understanding Newt’s desire to help fellow Grindelwald sufferers, like the man was a disease or blight upon those he inflicted himself upon. Maybe he was. A sickness that one never quite recovered from even if the symptoms were no longer there. 

There had been yelling.

Quite a bit of it, in fact. The moment that Newt had reached the privacy of Percival’s office several floors up from the interview rooms – after a _very _tense and fuming elevator ride – Percival had rounded upon Newt and demanded why he had not employed the agreed-upon safe word when Wright had started demanding that Newt either submit to arrest and Veritaserum or else face Grindelwald again. He had said that that was exactly the point where the interrogation should’ve been called to a halt and promptly sent a full coffee mug flying at Harkaway as the Auror poked his head in through the door. Harkaway had wisely only offered Newt an apologetic grimace before ducking back out the door to tend to his minor burns and the ceramic fragments lodged in his hair. It had taken a while, but Newt had managed to calm his partner down enough to the degree that he finally begrudgingly agreed that Newt had in fact done the right thing given the circumstances.

No, it had been the visit to Dumbledore that had gone less smoothly. The teacher had been back at work on the next day when Percival and Newt had called upon him, taking him aside from his newly adopted transfiguration class and explained the situation to him. Dumbledore had understandably been less than pleased by the idea, his aura rising like steam from a peacock-coloured bath to mingle in a generally agitated manner with the forest green and mahogany of the other men.

As Newt stood here in the cell now, he remembered the pain seeping from Dumbledore as he had understood, too, the trouble that would come of not letting Newt do it but also what could come of allowing it to happen. The weary, wary words rang in his head as the young Magizoologist stepped toward the simple, immovable wooden desk and the man that sat equally immobile at it.

_“Newt, don’t let this be what consumes you. Let this be the end. Do not be drawn back in because it gets harder and harder to withdraw the more you expose yourself. You may think that you have control over your expectations of him but don’t fool yourself. He can always worm his way back in. Don’t forget what you have outside of him lest you lose it all in the pursuit of one.” _

He also remembered Percival’s final words to him before he’d stepped back – willingly - into the cell and those were the first he acted upon, firstly as something he owed to Percival and that Grindelwald deserved and secondly because of the knowing, smug grin on Gellert’s lightning-licked lips.

_“Give him a good thump from me...it’s not a cheap shot after all that he’s done.” _

Newt delivered a very swift and remarkably accurate punch right into the scar that wrapped Grindelwald’s throat. Admittedly, the man took it well considering the obvious agony it caused and only doubled forward in his chair as much as his chained hands would allow, the links attached to the surface of the desk to limit his movement. He didn’t call out, the ruined state of his throat even before Newt’s blow having rendered him mute. Dumbledore had assured him, with a noticeable amount of smugness, that the cut Newt had made in his attempt on Grindelwald’s life had successfully severed the man’s vocal cords. There was a part of Newt that found the idea suspicious given that he had not cut deep at all and that as Dumbledore held the true power of the Elder Wand it should not have been a problem even if he had.

But nor did he argue with the concept of a blessedly mute Gellert.

Grindelwald’s mismatched eyes were watering slightly as he straightened in his seat, head bowing and hands going up as far as he could to check the damage done and smiling just slightly when he found nothing that apparently caused concern. He waited a few moments, tenderly probing at the struck area, waiting for Newt to speak before sighing out a strained breath and taking up the ornate pen and roll of parchment that sat upon the desk in preparation for this meeting.

He pushed the paper over to Newt with a courteous gesture, proffering the pen with a silent eyebrow raised.

Newt read:

_What can I do for you today, Liebling?” _

Newt nearly rolled his eyes but replied nonetheless, standing at what might’ve been a safe distance had any distance in the cell felt safe, “The Ministry is looking for all the people and creatures you’ve imprisoned. I agreed to help them.”

Gellert frowned slightly at him and swiftly wrote,

_Since when did you become a Ministerial lackey? I did not give my strength to you so that you could squander it on facilitating those officious, clueless fools._

“I’m no lackey, Gellert, I’m just trying to help undo a little of the wrong you put out into the world – some of which was done by my hand.”

Grindelwald’s writing hand was a blur,

_And do they send you in as a pretty face to convince me to deconstruct my work? Or rather, does Albus? That’s not much of an incentive when you come bearing only violence now, is it, Lustmolch? _

Having read the words Newt glared wearily, wanting to cross his arms but not wanting to look petulant, “Don’t call me that.”

Gellert cocked his head to one side, smiling genially and crossed a line through the last word before sliding the page back over to him and tapping the pen upon it meaningfully, resulting in another sigh from the Magizoologist, “I’m not doing anything for you, all I need to do is tell them that I tried.”

He was bluffing, of course, he wasn’t going to give up when there were potentially both human and beast lives on the line – time running out for them that could already be gone in the time Gellert had been held in captivity. Three weeks was a long time to suffer, though not so long, he supposed morbidly, if the prisoners had already wasted away.

The reply was swift as ever, elegant, sprawling handwriting upon the page,

_I’m not asking much, Newt, merely that I am provided with necessities during my remaining years – books, decent food, fresh clothes, entertainment and other such accoutrements. As well as a little company._

“No,” Newt replied the moment his eyes skated over the last words, knowing exactly what kind of _company_ Grindelwald was asking for, and he endured a patient smile from the dark wizard as he slid the paper back over to himself, scribbling before giving it back.

_Nothing so base, Newt, and it needn’t just be your own. I would settle for that of Albus or even your pup Percy if it would break the monotony I foresee over the upcoming decades. This is no ‘nefarious scheme’ on my part, I merely wish to be kept from allowing my mind to rot. Though you may not wish my happiness, you cannot deny that sparing others a grim fate by simply visiting me once in a while is something you already have been proven willing to do._

“Why would I ever trust you? Any time I’ve ever even considered placing the smallest modicum of trust in you, Gellert, you’ve only caused pain and given me even more reason not to make that mistake again.”

Grindelwald’s head tilted, lips pursing momentarily before he wrote his reply, keeping his finger on the paper as Newt leaned forward carefully to read it,

_I could tell you exactly what I saw in my visions, Newt. I could tell you how best to harness the abilities that I have gifted you with. If you stay for even a little while and tell me of what you have experienced thus far of your newfound power, I will give you what you seek. I will answer your questions with complete honesty and shall explain in turn why I have put myself into this position. I will explain everything. _

Newt was conflicted, as he strongly suspected he would be upon this visit – he wanted answers about the roiling magic within him and felt a strong curiosity regarding Gellert’s visions that had prompted him to choose this fate. But he also knew that indulging the dark wizard’s whims would likely prove detrimental to his own mental health, his relationship with Percival and potentially lead to another escape if he slipped up.

It wasn’t worth it.

Grindelwald saw his indecision as he scrawled another line, a taunt, a temptation and a hook that inevitably drew Newt’s will out of him along with all of his insides if the sensation sucking his gut was any indication.

_5th November 1930, Porpentina and Theseus Scamander. _

_Declared traitors by the Magical Congress of the United States of America for harbouring the Obscurial responsible for death and destruction across three continents. _

_Executed, leaving orphaned one-and-a-half-year-old son Edwin Scamander as a ward of the state with no living guardians left to claim him. _

Newt’s eyes shot up to Grindelwald’s and the Seer tapped under his silver eye with one meaningful finger and a clank of chains.

“What have you seen?” Newt rasped, knowing this could well be a trick but fearing, deeply, clawingly, fearing that it was something based in a horrible potential truth.

He had bargained for lenience for Tina, Edwin, Queenie and Jacob in whatever happened between the British Ministry and Theseus’ antics, bought them some freedom but it didn’t mean that he entirely trusted the contracts signed. He wasn’t going to rely upon a slip of paper signed by himself and some Ministry operative to keep anyone he cared for safe, but it was at least something to pull up in their defence if needed. It meant that Queenie and Jacob could return to England if the wanted, that Tina could return to work without risk from the British Ministry on her reinstatement. His terms for his help in getting Grindelwald’s cooperation had seemed like a risky thing at the time and with this alleged vision of Gellert’s, Newt felt now, more than ever, that he was treading thin ice on the bargains he was making. 

Gellert paused, eying him with something caught between pity and expectation before he wrote,

_Exactly as I say, I have seen the impending deaths of your family and also the means by which you are most likely to avoid those demises. Call me a liar or opportunist all you like but it won’t change the likelihood of it coming to pass – merely your preparedness for when it does. _

_Takes these as a token of my honesty and goodwill to you on this matter. _

A list of three names and locations followed, two of which were ones that had been mentioned to Newt as people who were missing and presumed in Grindelwald’s followers’ clutches. The third was a species listed as well as an address in London, one that was intimately familiar to Newt and his eyes shot up from the paper to meet Grindelwald’s in shock and a healthy degree of suspicion.

“You’re keeping a Unicorn foal in my old house?”

Grindelwald smiled and inclined his head before holding up two fingers and Newt blanched, his interest and astonishment overwhelming his suspicion momentarily, “Two? What ages are they? Colour? Where did you find them? How long have you had them? How have you been taking care of them? How long have they been left alone?” 

Grindelwald’s handwriting grew a little messier as he looked to be laughing at Newt’s enthusiasm, hastening to answer the flurry of questions,

_Both silver though the younger only just advanced from her gold stage. I found them during my travels amongst the Bavarian mountains whilst tracking you, Liebling. They are quite safe and are under the care of your very own former assistant and before you get all confrontational, Miss Yeates is unharmed and unaware of who she was taking care of the foals for. I was the one who bought your house when you abandoned it and sought to put it to better use. She acts as a housekeeper and seems to thrive upon caring for them. _

Newt didn’t know how to react to the information though was very grudgingly grateful that Bunty had found more Magizoological work even if it was from a highly questionable source, he couldn’t help but feel that he had abandoned her without thought when he sold his house and moved into his case without a word of warning. It felt bizarre in the extreme to have Gellert off all people having taken care of some of the collateral damage he had caused and not rubbed it right in Newt’s face right away as another thing he should be grateful to the dark wizard for. And the concept of meeting not just one but two unicorn foals…it was just the sort of bait that Grindelwald likely knew would entice him into placing trust in him even discounting the names and locations of two of his other victims.

He felt like he was laying himself straight back down into a spider’s web without ever even having properly climbed out.

Just winding himself tighter and tighter.

Well, might as well do the job properly while he was at it. In for a sickle, in for a galleon he supposed.

“What did you see, Gellert? In your visions? That made you do this?” 

Gellert watched him for some time and Newt was almost convinced that the man wasn’t going answer when the dark wizard picked up the pen once more and words began to flow as smoothly from the instrument as they once had from his notoriously silver tongue, 

_I saw red. Fields and fields of red. Red blooming from the mud and the blood and the fog. Red that meant remembrance._

_I saw Albus take possession of the wand. I saw him imprison me once and for all. _

_I saw that Muggles continue to destroy everything because of it but that it will not only be with the weapons they create but with the things they think will save them. _

_Albus will fall before truly unlocking the true power of the Hallows - he divides and squanders it on sentiment and whimsy. _

_I may not succeed in my deepest desires but I am not wrong. My endeavours may not prove successful, but others follow in my wake who bring about awareness of our world. There will always be those who see the truth of things and fight for the freedom of our kind - what do I truly have to fear as long as my message lives on? Time shall uphold my vision._

He looked up at Newt as he read the words with a calm smile, eyes intense and sure before jotting another line,

_I saw that with or without you – my story would end here, in the same way, and at the hand of the same snake of a man that would also have a hand in Albus’ death. _

_I played out our final act as I did because I wanted you to have reason to remain upon the stage with me, even if only as a fleeting presence with which to reminisce. A fellow player to sit upon the edge and muse upon the absurdity of it all. _

Newt’s throat had closed up, he didn’t know how to respond to any of it and merely watched on mutely, overwhelmed as Gellert scrawled a final line,

_And as a reminder that not all aspects of myself are closed off from those who wish to plumb those depths should they still desire to. After all this time._

He then scrawled a little more before he shoved the parchment toward Newt, regarding him silently, expectantly and Newt took it, their fingers an inch from touching but the sparks of violet protection between them preventing the contact. He felt the multi-coloured sparks that danced along both and watched it with awe as they disappeared back into their host’s skins.

It really was rather beautiful to witness – to bear and behold. 

Newt stepped back swiftly, clutching both the parchment and his still tingling hand to his chest in a shaking, tight grip, eyes blinking fast before he managed a response, “I’m sure he already knows. I think it’s probably why you’re still alive.”

He swallowed, a single duck of his curly copper head to take in the deep blue and rich silver of Grindelwald’s aura before he apparated with a nervous, splintered smile and a parting promise of, “Until next time, Mr Grindelwald, though I certainly hope not.” 

Grindelwald’s pale-lipped, papery smile was placid and almost sickly sweet in its tolerance and somehow, Newt knew that it wasn’t quite the end he hoped it to be.

It never could’ve been anything else after all.


End file.
